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Monsieur, Madame and the Baby. 

A SERIES OF CONFESSIONS. 

BY GUSTAVE DROZ. 

n 

TRANSLATED from the french 

BY EEAVEL SAVAGE. 


*' Monsieur, Madame and the Baby ” is a book that will certainly delight every- 
body, luhile fathers and mothers will be literally charmed with it. Gustave Droz, 
its author, is one of France's most prominent writers, and his work, now first 
given to the public in an English dress, has already run through over a hundred 
edition< in Paris, where it is still vastly popular. It is divided into three parts, 
''The Bachelor,” " Housekeeping ,” and "The Family,” and gives with a decree of 
realism only equalled by Zola all the details in the experiences of a young man, a 
husband, a wife and a baby. These details are Parisian from first to last, sparkling 
with delicate humor and overflowing with sound sense and pathos. The baby is a boy 
of the most natural description, full of pranks, puzzling questions and a desire to be 
a big man like papa. He has pillow fights with his father, romps in the garden of 
the Luxembourg, gets caught in the rain in the country, fays New Year’s visits with 
his parents, paddles in pools of water, is always terribly hungry, has a spell of sick- 
ness that nearly finishes him, but gets well again and is as lively as ever, and, in 
short, is just such a boy as is met with every day. That he will win the love of all 
who read about him cannot be doubted. “Monsieur, Madame and the Baby" 
should create a sensation as marked as that produced by “ Helen’s Babies.” It has 
been faithfully translated. Of course, it will find hosts of readers, for it is as inter- 
esting and agreeable as realistic. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 

306 CHESTNUT STREET. 


COPYRIGHT. — 1881 . 

T. B. PETERSON <5c BROTHERS 



HENRY GREV IEEE'S CELEBRATED NOVELS. 

Dosia. A Russian Story, By Ihnry GrMlle. 

“ Dosia” is a charming story of Russian society, is written with a rare grace of style, is 
brilliant, pleasing and attractive. It is an exquisite creaiion, and is pure and fresh as a rose. 

X£nie’s Inheritance. A Tale of Russian Life. By Henry Greville. 

The different characters that figure in this delightful love story are all drawn with that 
spirited and delicate touch for which this author is especially noted. 

Marrying- Off a Daughter. A Society Novel. By Henry Greville. 

“Marrying Off a Daughter” is gay, sparkling, and pervaded by a delicious tone of 
quiet humor, and will be read and enjoyed by thousands of readers. 

Sonia. A Russian Love Story. By Henry Greville. 

“Sonia” is charming and refined, and is a powerful, graceful, domestic story, being 
most beautifully told— giving one a very distinct idea of every-day home life in Russia. 

The Trials of Raissa. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville. 

“The Trials of Raissa " is a love story full of fascination and power. The action 
takes place in St. Petersburg, the country and Siberia. The descriptions are admirable. 

Saveli’s Expiation. A Powerful Russian Love Story. By Henry Greville. 

“Sav£i.i’s Expiation” is one of the most dramatic and most powerful novels ever pub- 
lished, while a pathetic love story, running all through its pages, is presented for relief. 

The Princess OghCrof. A Russian Love Story. By Henry GrMlle. 

“The Princess Ogh£rof” is a thoroughly fascinating love story. Its interest is in- 
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Ronne-Marie. A Tale of Normandy and Paris. By Henry Greville. 

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in Paris. It will no doubt create a sensation, such is its freshness, beauty, and delicacy. 

Pliilom&ne’s Marriages. A Tale of Normandy. By Henry GrMlle. 

The heroine’s life is narrated in a most fascinating manner, and h an admirable pic- 
ture of country home-life, full of w it, of a high moral tone, and full of interest. 

.Lucie Rodey. A New r Society Novel. By Henry Greville. 

“Lucie Rodey” teaches a great lesson, and in it all readers will find the wile and 
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Markof, the Russian Violinist. A Russian Story. By Hnry Greville. 

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as could be written only by such an artist and genius as the author of “ Dosia” is. 

Dournof. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville. 

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of Russian character, and character drawing, which are most admirable. 

Pretty Little Countess Zina. A Charming Story. By Henry Greville. 

Zina, the Countess, bears a resemblance to Dosia — that bew itching creature — in her 
dainty wilfulness, while the ward and cousin, Vassalissa, is an entire new' creation. 

A Friend; or, L’Anii. A Society Novel. By Henry Greville. 

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Gabrielle; or. The House of Maureze. By Henry GrMlle. 

“Gabrielle; or, The House of Maureze,” is a very thrilling and touching story, 
is most skilfully told, and follows the life of the girl whose title it bears. 



TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE. 


No production of any modern French author 
has been more extensively read, enjoyed and 
favorably criticised than the work, a translation 
of which is now first submitted to the American 
public. . 

“ Monsieur, Madame and the Baby” took 
Paris by storm, and so great has been the con- 
tinued demand for it that it has, at the time of 
making this translation, attained its one hundred 
and second edition. I was induced to undertake 
the translation of the book by an appreciation 
of its intrinsic worth, and by the fact that no 
English rendition of it has ever appeared. 

As the reader will perceive at the first glance, 
the work is a collection of exquisitely drawn 

( 21 ) 


22 translator’s preface. 

sketches, each independent of the others — and, 
indeed, a story in itself — yet tending to a com- 
mon end. These sketches are divided into three 
parts : “ The Bachelor,” “ Housekeeping ” and 

“ The Family.” The first part is thoroughly 
Parisian, maintaining throughout a brilliancy of 
style and a power of fascination seldom equalled. 
The second and third parts, which treat respec- 
tively of Madame and the Baby, are characterized 
by commingled pathos and dreamy philosophy. 
They not only differ from anything of the kind 
ever offered to the public, but challenge the 
attention and impress their contents indelibly 
upon the mind of the reader. 

The translation of the work has been consci- 
entiously made and it is hoped that, where the 
original possesses so much brilliancy, its reflection 
may not be entirely devoid of beauty. 

Reavel Savage. 


AUTHOR’S PREFACE. 


Dear Madame: 

If, on opening this volume, you should, per- 
chance, cast your eyes upon something you 
know nothing about, do not, I beseech you, be 
in too great a hurry to call the house-maid and 
cry : “ Into the fire with this ! ” 

In the first part of my book, it is a bachelor 
who speaks, and I must ask your indulgence and 
pardon for him. Do not condemn him too 
hastily — you would regret it, I am sure, for, 
after awhile, this celibate takes to himself a 
little wife, and, my word for it, makes a most 
charming husband. 

Is it necessary for me to say that he is soon a 
father, and, therefore, merits all your sympathy? 

My embarrassment is not slight, I assure you ! 

( 23 ) 


24 


author's preface. 


I would advise you to begin at the end, were it 
not that, in order to love the father, it is neces- 
sary to know the man ; and all these little studies 
are connected by a chain, not a single link of 
which I would wish to break. 

Therefore, dear Madame, be courageous. If, 
at times, you disagree with the author, close one 
eye — a sure means of reading but half and of 
falling out with no one. 

Your respectful servant, 

Gustave Droz. 


CONTENTS. 



PART FIRST.-THE BACHELOR. 

Chapter Page 

I. MY FIRST MIDNIGHT SUPPER 27 

II. THE SOUL IN PAIN 33 

in. MADAME DE K 46 

IV. SOUVENIRS OF LENT — THE SERMON 53 

V. SOUVENIRS OF LENT — THE PENITENT 59 

VI. SOUVENIRS OF LENT— A FIRESIDE CHAT... 65 
> 

vn. SOUVENIRS OF LENT — A DREAM 72 

vni. the ambassador’s ball 87 

IX. PRIVATE THEATRICALS-MY AUNT AS VENUS 96 


PART SECOND-HOUSEKEEPING. 

I. FATHER Z ’S INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE 107 

n. AT THE TOWN HALL — AT CHURCH — 

MADAME’s IMPRESSIONS 114 

ni. MY WEDDING NIGHT 124 

(25) 


26 CONTENTS. 

Chapter Page 

IY. THE BLUE DIARY — MADAME’s IMPRESSIONS 

AGAIN 13B 

Y. THE BLUE DIARY AGAIN 143 

VI. MY WIFE GOES TO THE BALL 150 

VII. A FALSE ALARM 162 

VIII. I SUP WITH MY WIFE 182 

IX. FROM ONE THING TO ANOTHER 190 

X. A BIT OF CONVERSATION 196 

XI. THE FOOT WARMER 204 


PART THIRD.— THE FAMILY. 

I. THE BABY 210 

n. new year’s day in the family 219 

m. the wife’s letters J . 230 

IV. OLD RECOLLECTIONS. THE BABIES 239 

***»«■*•>«*» 

V. THE LITTLE BOOTS 246 

VI. BABIES AND PAPAS 255 

VII. FIRST BREECHES 265 

VIII. COUNTRY BABIES. DUCKLINGS AND LITTLE 

CHICKENS 2T2 

IX. AUTUMN. CABBAGE SOUP AND HEAVY RAINS. 280 

X. HE WOULD HAVE BEEN FORTY YEARS OLD. 286 

XI. CONVALESCENCE 291 

XII. THE FAMILY 295 


MONSIEUR, 

MADAME AND THE 

BABY. 


PART FIRST.— THE BACHELOR. 


CHAPTER I. 


MY FIRST MIDNIGHT SUPPER. 


G REAT HEAVENS ! I have forgotten her name ! 
And yet I loved her well, the adorable creature ! 
How strange it is that one feels so rich on rum- 
maging in one’s old secretary; how many forgotten 
sighs, how many pretty little bits of trinkets out of 
fashion and covered with dust are there ! But no 
matter. 

I was eighteen years old then, and, upon my honor, 
had a heart fresh and somewhat sentimental. It was 
in the ear of this dear — I’ve her name on the very end 
of my tongue : it ends with an i-n-e — ’twas, however, in 
her ear, the dear girl ! that I murmured my first words 

(2T) 


28 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


of love, and upon her rosy lips beside a pretty dimple, 
that I pressed my first kiss. I adored her and she 
^reciprocated my affection. I really believe I should 
have married her, and with pleasure, too, I assure you, 
if, at certain moments, her past had not inspired me 
with doubts and her present with inquietude. No one 
is perfect — and I was somewhat jealous. 

One evening, ’twas Christmas-eve, I called upon her 
with the intention of escorting her to a supper given 
by a friend of mine whom I esteemed highly, and who 
died long since, I know not where, while an examining 
magistrate. 

I ascended my dear one’s staircase, and was surprised 
to find her ready to accompany me. She wore, I recol- 
lect it still, a squarely and somewhat deeply cut bodice 
that became her well. She took my arm, singing an 
air of which she was very fond, and we soon found 
ourselves in the street. 

Have you ever experienced the joy of a youth just 
budding into manhood when his sweetheart leans upon 
his arm ? His very temerity frightens him, and he 
trembles at the thought of a paternal correction on 
the morrow; but all these fears are dissipated by 
the ineffable pleasure of the moment. He is free, is 
a man, loves, is loved, and feels that he has already 
placed one foot forward in the race of life. He wishes 
that all Paris could see him, and yet trembles at the 
mere thought of being recognized ; he would give his 
little finger to have three hairs upon his upper lip and 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 29 


* 

one wrinkle on his brow — he would give more if a 
cigar would not sicken him, — if a glass of punch 
would not make him sneeze ! 

When we arrived at my friend’s, there had already 
gathered together a numerous assembly ; peals of 
laughter, intermingled with exclamations and the ring- 
ing of dishes, the covers of which were being removed, 
greeted us as we stood in the ante-chamber. I was 
somewhat moved ; I felt that I was the most youthful 
of the entire company, and feared to enter into the 
saturnalia. “Courage, my boy!” said I to myself; 
“be like the rest. Your sweetheart is here and her 
eyes are upon you ! ” The idea that I might be sick 
on the morrow tormented me not a little. I imagined 
my poor mother bringing me a cup of tea, and weeping 
over my indiscretions ; but I banished all these miser- 
able spectres of tb§ consequences, and everything went 
well until supper. Some one slightly teased my sweet- 
heart and one or two persons even admired her under 
my very nose, but I entered all these details in the 
account of profit and loss and was, in all sincerity, 
ridiculously proud and supremely happy. 

“ My children,” suddenly cried *the host ; “ the 
moment has arrived for a violent assault upon the 
delicacies ! Let us pass into the dining-room.” 

These words were received with cries of joy, and 
the entire company gathered in wild disorder around 
a large table, at either end of which I perceived a 
plate filled with those immense cigars of which it was 


30 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 


impossible for me to smoke one quarter of the smallest 
one, without feeling large drops of cold sweat standing 
upon my forehead. 

“ This will certainly bring about a catastrophe ! 
But prudence, my boy; only feign to smoke!” said I 
to myself. 

I never could understand how my sweetheart was 
placed at the left of our host. This did not suit me at 
all ; but what was to be done ? And then our host was 
twenty-five years old, and his fine figure together with 
his moustache rendered him a perfect ideal — a most 
bewitching demon : I felt a certain respect for him. 

“Well,” said he, with enviable composure, “well, 
you’re all ready, I suppose? You all know that who- 
ever feel ill at ease may remove their coats ! ” Then, 
laughing, and with lightning rapidity, he deposited 
kisses to the right and left upon the lips of his two 
fair neighbors, one of whom was my sweetheart! I 
felt my hair stand on end, and I burned like a glowing 
coal ; but then, this feat of our host was greeted with 
approving bursts of merriment, and from this moment 
the supper progressed with charming animation. 

“ My little children,” — this was the usual expression 
of this diabolical examining magistrate, — “let us 
attack the cold meats, the sausages, the salad and the 
turkey! Let us attack the buns, the cheese, the 
oysters and the grapes ! Let us attack the entire 
range of victims! Slaves, draw the corks! Let us 
eat all at once, — no order, no symmetry ! Be oriental, 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 31 


absurd and adorable ! They never sup otherwise in 
the heart of Africa! We must mingle poetry with 
our pleasures : pass me the cheese with the turkey ! 
Ah ! ah ! ah ! I am rather strange and incomprehen- 
sible ; is it not so ? ” 

And he impressed two more kisses upon the lips of 
his fair neighbors. 

If I had not been already intoxicated, upon my 
honor, I should have caused a scene. But I was giddy 
and morose. The others laughed, shouted and sang, 
while the dishes jingled. A noisy popping of corks 
and smashing of glasses filled my ears; but it appeared 
to me that a cloud had settled between myself and the 
outer world, and, in spite of the evidence of the reality, 
I believed myself deceived by a dream. I could dis- 
tinguish, although only in a confused manner, the 
animated glances exchanged by the guests and the 
increasing redness of their faces. My sweetheart 
seemed changed. Suddenly — ’twas like a flash — my 
well-beloved, my angel, my dream — she whom I would 
have married in the morning — leaned towards the 
examining magistrate, and (I still shudder at the 
thought of it) devoured three truffles which were upon 
his plate. My heart was full ; it seemed as if it would 
burst — and then — 

But here my memory fails me. What happened 
afterwards? I never knew. I was unconscious. I 
remember, however, that I was taken home in a hack. 
I insisted upon knowing where she was, pitifully 


32 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


inquiring : “ Where is she ? Oh ! where is she ? ” 
The}' told me that she had taken her departure two 
hours before. 

The next morning, the mere recollection of the 
truffles on the plate of the examining magistrate 
nearly drove me mad. I entertained, for the moment, 
the idea of entering a monastery — -but time — well, 
you know how time calms the tempests of the heart ! 

But, great heavens! what is her name, the dear 
girl? It ends with an i-n-e. No; I believe it ends 
with an a ! 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 33 


CHAPTER II. 


THE SOUL IN PAIN. 



10 Monsieur Claude de L 


X At the Seminary of P — sur-C — (Haute-Saone). 

’Tis a great joy for my soul, my dear Claude, to 
claim you as my own for a few moments of conversa- 
tion. Need I say it? I cannot think of the life we 
led but yesterday, as feiiow-students at the College of 
the Jesuits, without a pious emotion. I think of our 
long chats under the grand old trees, of the pious 
pilgrimages which we made to the Calvary of the 
Father Superior, of our dear lectures, and of the 
yearning of our two souls towards the eternal source 
of all that is beautiful and great. I still see the little 
chapel that you erected, one day, in your desk, and the 
tiny candles we made for it and lighted once, in the 
middle of our geography lesson. Delicious souvenirs, 
how dear you are to my heart ! Charming details of 
a calm and pure life, what happiness your memory 
imparts. Time, in separating me from you, seems only 
to have rendered you all the more present to my mind. 
I have lived, alas! during these six months; but, by 
acquiring worldly knowledge, I have learned to love 
more dearly the holy ignorance of my past life. 
Always wiser than myself, you have remained in the 


34 MONSIEUK, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


ways of the Lord; friend, you have understood the 
divine mission reserved for you ; you have not desired 
to knock at the profane gate that guards the entrance 
to this world, to this cavern, I might say, where I am 
now tossed about like a frail ship in a mighty tempest. 
And yet, who will say that the anger of the wave is 
not mere child’s-play when compared to that of the 
passions? Happy, thrice happy friend, who knows not 
that which I have learned, whose eyes have not yet 
measured the abyss in which my gaze has been lost ! 

But what could I do? Was I not obliged, in spite 
of my vocation as well as in spite of the tender friend- 
ship which called me to your side, was I not, I repeat, 
obliged to obey the exigencies of my name and the 
wishes of my father who destined me to the military 
profession for the defence of a noble cause which you, 
also, defend? In short, I obeyed, and left the College 
of the Jesuits never to return again ! 

I entered the world, my heart filled with those 
wholesome fears to which our pious education had 
given birth. My first step was made in dread, and 
in an instant I recoiled in horror ! I am only nine- 
teen years of age, but have already reflected deeply, 
which, coupled with the experience of my pious pre- 
ceptors, has given my soul a precocious maturity which 
enables rne to judge of men and things ; moreover, my 
faith is so firmly grounded and has penetrated so 
deeply into my very being that I may open my eyes 
to that which is around me without danger. I do not 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 35 

fear for my own salvation, but am deeply distressed 
when I think of the future of our modern society; 
and I pray God with all the fervor of my soul, which 
He has ever guarded from evil, that He turn not his 
benevolent eye from our unhappy country. 

Even here, at the residence of my cousin, the 

Marquise de K de C , .where I now am, I 

discover nothing but frivolity in the men and dan- 
gerous coquetry in the women. The pernicious breath 
of the age seems to penetrate even into these high 
regions of the French aristocracy. Now and then, 
science and morality are discussed, but even these dis- 
cussions appear to be attacks upon our holy faith, and, 
indeed, involve matters on which our Holy Father, 
the Pope, alone should pass judgment. Thus: God 
permits, at this moment, that certain would-be savans, 
— you understand me — pretend to explain, by a new 
theory, the origin of beings; and, in spite of the 
excommunication which assuredly awaits them, they 
cast the gauntlet of ferocious and impious defiance to 
all our revered beliefs and traditions ! 

I have not desired to inquire into such turpitudes, 
but it is with a heavy heart that I see men of learn- 
ing and illustrious names attach importance to this 
vileness. 

As to the manners and customs of the society whose 
air I breathe, they are not, and really could not be, 
immoral; but they are, nevertheless, exceedingly friv- 
olous and of a horribly shocking freedom. I will only 
o 


36 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


cite one example — that which has impressed me most 
deeply. 

A short distance from the chateau is a charming 
little stream, shaded by grand old willows ; the current 
is somewhat rapid, but the water is as transparent as 
crystal, and the bed of the brook is covered with so 
fine a sand that one sinks into it as into a Turkish rug. 
Will you believe me, dear friend, when I assure you 
that, on warm days, all the inhabitants of the chateau, 
together and without distinction of sex, go there to 
bathe ! A simple bathing dress veils but imperfectly 
the strange and singularly daring modesty of the ladies. 
Pardon me, my pious friend, for entering into these 
details, and, perhaps, troubling the calmness of your 
soul by the picture of worldly scenes ; but I promised 
to impart to you all my impressions, as well as my 
most secret thoughts. ’Twas a sacred promise which 
I shall keep. 

But I avow that these bathing scenes were revolting 
to me in the highest sense, even when I first heard 
them mentioned. I experienced a sort of disgust 
easily understood, and absolutely refused to take part 
in such proceedings. I was certainly teased about it, 
but these worldly railleries could neither affect the 
calm of my soul nor change the firmness of my 
determination. 

Yesterday, however, about five o’clock in the after- 
noon, the Marquise sent for me, and spoke with such 
cleverness that I was forced to consent to serve as her 
cavalier. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND T1IE BABY. 37 


We set out. The waiting-maid carried our bathing 
dresses, as well as that of my sister, who was to join 
us at the bath. 

“ I know,” said my cousin, as she leaned somewhat 
too heavily upon my arm, “ that you swim remarkably 
well. The rumor of your exploits has reached us even 
here. Now, will you not teach me to float, Robert ? ” 

“ My dear cousin,” I replied, “ I attach but little 
importance to these trifling physical advantages. I 
swim tolerably well — nothing more.” 

And I turned aside in order to avoid an extremely 
penetrating perfume emanating from her beautiful 
hair. You know well that I am subject to nervous 
attacks. 

“ But, my dear child, these physical advantages are 
not to be disdained, methinks ! ” 

This “ dear child ” pleased me not at all. My cousin 
is twenty-six years of age, it is true ; but I am no 
longer a “ dear child,” and, moreover, this appellation 
denoted a familiarity which I had by no means desired. 
It was, on the part of the Marquise, a consequence of 
that frivolity of mind, of that freedom of language 
which I had already remarked, but nothing more. I 
was shocked. She continued: 

“An exaggerated modesty finds no place in our 
society,” — and she turned towards me, laughingly. 
“You would make a charming cavalier, my little 
Robert; and that which is wanting in you could be 
very easily acquired. For example : let the Marquis’ 


38 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


valet dress your hair ; he would suit you admirably, 
and I know you would be satisfied with the result.” 

Of course, you understand, my dear Claude, that I 
replied to these remarks with a coldness that could 
leave no doubt as to my intentions. 

“I repeat, cousin,” said I, “that I attach but little 
importance to such things.” 

I emphasized my words by a firm, icy glance. ’Twas 
then, for the first time — for I had not regarded my 
companion until then — that I perceived the profane 
elegance of her toilet, an elegance to which, unhappily, 
her perishable beauty serves as a pretext and an 
encouragement. 

Her arms were bare, her wrists entirely concealed 
by a profusion of magnificent bracelets, and her 
shoulders but slightly veiled by a light covering of 
transparent lace. In a word, the desire to please was 
plainly visible in all the details of her toilet. I was 
deeply moved at the sight of so much frivolity, and I 
blushed in pity — almost in shame. 

We at last arrived at the stream. My cousin sank 
into, I cannot say sat down upon, the grass, throwing 
back her long, wavy hair which hung from her chignon. 
The word chignon, in its worldly signification, means 
that prominence so characteristic of the back of a 
woman’s head. It is produced by a gathering and 
knotting together of the hair at the above-mentioned 
locality. I have inferred, from certain allusions, that 
some of these chignons are anything but natural. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TI1E BABY. 39 

There are women — too worthy daughters of Eve — 
who purchase the production of the human scalp, 
which misery or death puts on the market. It is 
heart-rending ! 

“ How terribly warm it is, my little cousin,” said she, 
fanning herself. “I am in constant agony, during such 
a temperature, lest M. de Beaurenard’s nose should 
explode and take fire I Ah 1 ah ! ah ! My word of 
honor ! ” 

And she laughed freely at this pleasantry, which, to 
say the least, was sufficiently unseemly and without 
much point. M. de Beaurenard, who is a friend of the 
Marquis, possesses a face rather highly colored. 

I executed a polite smile, which she, doubtlessly 
mistook for one of approbation, for she entered, then 
and there, into a conversation or, rather, into a name- 
less loquaciousness, commingling the oddest sentiments 
and the strangest religious ideas imaginable — the calm 
of the fields and the whirl and bustle of the world — 
and all this with a freedom of gesture, a charm of 
worldly expression, an animated look and a sort of 
terrestrial poetry by which any other than myself would 
have been subdued. 

“ Confess, Robert, that this little nook is an adorable 
spot.” 

‘5 Certainly, cousin.” 

“ And then, these old willows that bow their hoary 
heads to the stream ! See how lovingly the flowers of 
the field embrace their withered trunks ! Are they not 


40 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

wonderful, this young, graceful and silvery verdure 
and these delicate, supple branches? How much youth, 
grace and freshness spring from these old trunks that 
seem blasted and cursed ! ” 

“The good God would never curse a vegetable, 
cousin.” 

“ That may be ; but I cannot help discovering some- 
thing human in these old willows ! Their eternal old 
age has an air of punishment; they suffer and expiate, 
these old reprobates of the streams, these old Quasi- 
modos of the fields I Do you blame me, my little 
cousin, if this is the impression they make upon me ? 
Who will assure me that the willow is not the last 
incarnation of the fisherman who died without con- 
fessing?” 

And she laughed aloud. 

“ These ideas are so pagan and so thoroughly con- 
trary to our dogmas, that I am forced, in order to 
explain them, to suppose that you are but jesting ! ” 

“Jesting, my little cousin? Not the least in the 
world ! But you are surely no longer in the very first 
stages of youth ! Go, prepare for the bath ; I shall 
enter the tent and do the same. Good-bye for a few 
moments, my little cousin ! ” 

Raising the side of the tent, she entered, waving her 
hand to me with an air of extreme coquetry. 

How strange a mystery is the heart of woman ! 

I sought a secluded spot, thinking of this conversa- 
tion as I went, and in an instant I had donned my 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 41 


bathing costume. I thought of you, my pious friend, 
as I buttoned my jacket and cuffs. How many times 
have you assisted me to perform this operation, in the 
execution of which I was so awkward ! This finished, 
I sprang into the water, and was on the point of striking 
out, when the voice of the Marquise saluted my ears. 
She was in conversation with her waiting-maid in the 
tent. I stopped and listened, not from vile curiosity, 
but from a sincere desire to become better acquainted 
with this soul, naturally good, but led astray. 

“ But no, Julie,” said the Marquise, “I do not wish 
to hear you speak any longer of your horrible water- 
proof bonnet. The water gets in and there is no such 
thing as getting it out! Simply plait my hair into a 
small braid and that will suffice.” 

“ But Madame’s hair will get wet ! ” 

“Well, you’ll powder it afterwards; nothing dries 
better than powder, and, as it happens, I intend to 
wear my blue silk this evening. You will use some 
blonde powder. My child, are you really losing your 
senses? I told you to alter my bathing clothes, but 
you have scarcely touched them.” 

“ I was afraid it might prevent Madame’s swim- 
ming well.” 

“ Swimming ! Can’t you see that the want of 
alteration prevents my swimming well? Can’t you 
see, my child — can’t you see?” 

The canvas of the tent thereupon being agitated, I 
understood that my cousin was donning the bathing 


42 MONSIEUR MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 


costume in question rather impatiently, in order that 
she might expose its faults more plainly to this other 
“ dear child.” 

“ I don’t wish to have the air of being wrapped up 
in a blanket, it is true ; yet I do not wish, on the other 
hand, to be deprived of the free use of my limbs ! Will 
you never get it into your head, Julie, that this stuff 
does not give ? ” 

Does it not require a weak mind, my pious friend, to 
dwell upon such things ? To me they seemed so vain 
that I suffered from being an involuntary assistant at 
the above-described scene, and I agitated the water 
rather forcibly to announce my presence and put an 
end to a conversation which so shocked me. 

“ I’m coming, Robert ; only remain in the water. 
Has your sister arrived yet?” said my cousin, raising 
the pitch of her voice. 

The canvas was raised and my cousin appeared. I 
cannot tell why, but I trembled as at the approach of 
danger, as the Marquise advanced towards me. She 
took several steps over the fine sand, removing the 
while the golden rings from her fair fingers, after which 
she gave them to Julie, and, with a movement which I 
still see but which it is impossible for me to describe, 
raised her foot and cast her tiny, red silk sandals into 
the grass. 

She had only advanced two or three steps, but I 
already remarked a strangeness in her gait. She 
walked with seemingly timid steps ; her white arms, 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 43 


pressed closely to her form, appeared abandoned to the 
caprices of her costume, and trembled at her slightest 
movement. 

I turned away my eyes— ’twas too much! I felt 
myself blush to the temples at the mere thought that a 

Marquise de K de C ,that my own cousin, could 

so far forget herself as to appear, in broad daylight, in 
such a bathing dress. There was nothing womanlike 
about her, save her plaited hair enveloped in a net. 
She seemed like a strange young man, slight and ele- 
gant — one of those beings who haunt the dreams and 
sleepless nights of fever, one of those beings towards 
whom an unknown power attracts us, and who too 
nearly resemble angels not to be demons. 

“Well, Robert, what are you thinking of? Give 
me your hand and assist me into the water ! ” 

And she cautiously dipped her delicate foot into the 
crystal stream. 

“It always causes a shiver, at first, but the water 
must be delightful to-day ! ” said she. “ What is the 
matter with you? Your hand trembles! Poor child, 
you are chilled ! ” 

The fact is that my trembling was caused neither by 
fear nor cold, but that, on approaching the Marquise, 
the penetrating perfume, exhaled from her hair, 
affected my head, and in my nervous state you will 
easily understand that I was on the point of swooning. 
But I mastered my uneasiness. My cousin grasped 
my hand frankly, firmly, just as one grasps the head of 


44 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


a cane or the rail of a stair case, and we ascended 
the stream. My role confused me I Ah! my dear 
Claude, to how much misery and fear would your 
pure soul have been exposed, could you but have seen 
me in the position in which I was placed ! Strong as I 
am, thanks to the firm foundation of my education, I, 
nevertheless, was afraid, and, with my whole heart, 
which is still pure, I prayed God to guard me from 
evil. But permit me to continue my narration. 

As we ascended, the stream grew deeper ; the Mar- 
quise, from time to time, as the water mounted higher 
and higher, gave vent to little shrieks of fright, which 
resembled the hissing of a serpent, after which she 
laughed aloud and came nearer and nearer to me. 
Finally, she stood still, and, turning towards me, looked 
straight into my eyes. I felt the solemnity of the 
moment. I knew that the precipice was at my very 
feet; my heart throbbed as if it would burst, and my 
head burned as if on fire. 

44 And now teach me to float, Robert. Straight out, 
the arms pressed closely against the body — that’s it, 
is it not? ” 

44 Yes, cousin, and move the hands slightly to 
and fro.” 

44 Now then, all right ! Ready ? — one, two, three ! — 
how childish I am! — I’m afraid! — But do support 
me just a little bit.” 

’Twas at this moment that I should have said : % 

44 No, cousin, no, Madame, I am not the man to sup- 
port you ; I do not wish — ” 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 45 


But I did not dare to say all this. My tongue clove 
to the roof of my mouth and refused to pronounce a 
single word ! I put out my arm towards her. 

Alas ! ’twas a fault — perhaps, an irreparable one ! 

On seeing this fair woman extended upon the crystal 
water, pardon, oh ! pardon me, but I adored her ! 
I abridge : When I saw her thus, it seemed to me that 
all my blood rushed back to my heart ; a mortal thrill 
ran through my whole being — a thrill of indignation 
and shame, doubtless ! My eyes were dimmed ; it 
seemed to me that my soul was leaving my body, and 
I fainted, clutching her and dragging her with me to 
the bottom of the stream ! 

I heard a terrific shriek; I felt her arms tighten 
about my neck, her clenched fingers enter into my 
flesh and all was over. I had lost consciousness ! 

When I revived, I was lying upon the grass; Julie 
was rubbing my hands and the Marquise, in her bath- 
ing clothes, from which the water streamed in torrents, 
was holding a bottle of salts to my nostrils. Her 
glance was severe, although not entirely devoid of a 
shadow of suppressed satisfaction. 

“ Child ! ” she exclaimed. “ Big baby ! ” 

You know the facts now, my pious friend. Oh ! be 
charitable ! Give me counsel, and bless heaven that 
your life is passed far from the scenes of these worldly 
tempests ! With heart and soul, 

Your sincere friend, 

Robert de K de C . 


46 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY 


CHAPTER III. 

MADAME DE K — . 

I T is quite possible that you know Madame de 

K ; if so, I congratulate you, for she is a most 

remarkable person. Her face is pretty, but no one 
ever says of her : “ Heavens ! the pretty woman ! ” 

— one invariably exclaims: “Madame de K ? 

Great Jove, the fine woman ! ” 

Do you note the difference ? — it is ef?sily compre- 
hended ! Her great charm is rather that which one 
divines than that which one sees. Ah ! Great Jove, 
the fine woman ! ” 

This is the exclamation always heard after the 

repast, when one has dined at Madame de K ’s, 

and when her husband, who is, unfortunately, in feeble 
health and does not smoke, has gone to search for 
cigars for his friends in his private apartment. But 
even in this whispered exclamation, it is easily seen 
that each of the guests entertains a profound convic- 
tion of the truth of the same. 

The ladies, who remain in the parlor after dinner, 
have really no idea of the charming freedom that char- 
acterizes the conversation of the gentlemen, who have 
retired to the smoking-room to discuss their cigars 
and coffee. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABF. 47 

“ Yes, yes, — she is a very fine woman ! ” 

“ I should say so ! — an opulent beauty — opulent ! ” 

“But the condition of this poor de K troubles 

me ; do you know that he gets no better, doctor? Are 
you not uneasy?” 

Every one smiles at the idea that this poor de 

K , who is looking for cigars, grows visibly weaker, 

while his wife retains such excellent health. 

“ Pie is unreasonable : he works too assiduously ! I 
have already told him so several times. And then, his 
political affairs ! No, thank you, I never take sugar 
in my coffee.” 

“ It is quite serious, you know ; for really he is not 
strong ! ” ventures a guest, very gravely, at the same 
time biting his lips to keep from laughing. 

“ However, I find that the beauty of the person in 
question is much more striking this year than last,” 
says a little gentleman, as he stirs his coffee. 

“ M. de K ’s beauty ? — I don’t think so ! ” 

“ I did not say that.” 

u Beg pardon ! but I assure you that you did. Isn’t 
it so, doctor ? ” 

“ Certainly ! But let us distinguish, my friends ! ” 

“ Ah ! all ! ah ! ” and the laugh is characteristic of 
persons whose digestive organs are in operation. The 
ice is broken, the chairs are drawn nearer together, and 
the conversation is continued in low tones. 

“But it is her neck that is most remarkable; she 
turned her head, a few moments ago ; it was sculptural, 
sculptural ! ” 


48 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


“Her neck, her neck! And her hands, her arras, 
her shoulders ! But did you see her at Ldon’s ball 
about two weeks ago ? A queen, my dear Monsieur, a 
Roman empress ! Don’t you see — the neck, the shoul- 
ders, the arms — ” 

“Ah! ” sighs somebody, as he gazes intently into his 
cup. 

This calls forth much laughter, and the good de 

K arrives with a box of cigars of an exceptional 

brand. 

“ I beg you, my friends,” says he, “ to smoke these 
understandingly.” 

Hereupon, another burst of laughter, caused by the 
“ Ah ! ” which no one has forgotten. 

I have very often dined with my friend de K 

and have always, or nearly always, heard, after dinner, 
conversation similar to the above. 

But I declare that the impertinence this evening, 
particularly shocked me, especially this “Ah ! ” — firstly, 

because de K is my friend, and, secondly, because 

I cannot tolerate persons who talk too much about 
their acquaintances. I — , well, I am the only man in 
Paris who can speak understandingly of Madame 

de K . Yes, I — I dare say it ! I repeat that I am 

the only one ; and that can be easily explained : Paul 
and his brother are in England and Ernest is consul in 
America; as to L6on, he is at Hy£res in his little sous- 
pr^fecture ; therefore, you see that I am really the 
only one in Paris who — who — 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 49 

“But what, M. Z ? Are you joking? Explain 

yourself ! ” 

I am absurd ! J ust consider that I have said nothing. 
Let us change the conversation ! 

One fine spring morning, as the rain poured down in 
torrents and the north wind howled in fury, a young 
lady, more dead than alive — 

Well, there is no escaping now! I had better con- 
fess the whole truth. But pledge me your honor that 
you will be discreet. Well, this is how it happened: 

I am, I repeat it, the only man in Paris who can 
speak understanding^ of Madame de K . 

Several years ago — don’t let us hurry at all — I had 
an intimate friend, at whose house we were in the habit 
of holding our evening reunions. In summer, the 
window was always open ; and there, by the glow of 
our cigars, we sat in our arm-chairs, discussing a thou- 
sand nothings. But, one evening, as we were speaking 
of pisciculture — every one of the details is firmly fixed 
in my mind — we heard the music of a powerful 
piano, and soon afterwards the firm notes of a voice 
which, I must acknowledge, was more energetic than 
harmonious. 

“ Hold ! she must have changed her hours ! ” cried 
Paul, glancing at one of the windows of a house 
across the way. 

“Who has changed her hours, my dear friend?” 

“ My neighbor, of course ! Strong voice ! What 
were you saying about those fish? She usually vocal- 


50 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


ized in the morning, and that pleased me better, for I 
am in the habit of taking my walk at that time ! ” 

Instinctively turning my eyes towards a brilliantly 
illuminated window, I perceived, through the Venetian 
blinds, a woman dressed in pure white ; her long, loose 
hair, hanging in wavelets, was violently agitated, and, 
knowing that she was alone, she abandoned herself 
entirely to her inspiration. 

“ Mon Fernaud , pars , va chereher la gloire oi-oi-oi- 
re ! ” sang she, with a full voice. The song was not 
an over-pleasing one, but the songstress, as she sat 
there, interested me very much, indeed. 

“ Gentlemen,” said I, “ there seems to be, behind 
yon frail tissue — I allude to the blinds — a very beauti- 
ful lady. Suppose we lay aside our cigars; their glow 
might reveal our presence and trouble the songstress.” 

The cigars were immediately abandoned and the 
shutters almost entirely closed, in order to give greater 
security; then, we placed ourselves in a position of 
observation. 

This was not, as I am well aware, an act of abso- 
lute politeness; but we were young, and, moreover, 
bachelors. 

When the song was ended, the songstress arose. 
’Twas a terribly warm night, and the lady’s white robe 
was intended for a torrid temperature. 

The lady approached her mirror, and it seemed to us 
that she contemplated her visage reflected therein, 
after which she raised her arms above her head, and by 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 51 

this graceful movement her sleeves, which were unbut- 
toned, fell back to the shoulder, revealing to our gaze 
the distinct and beautiful outlines of her snowy arms. 

“ Heavens ! ” exclaimed Paul ; but he could say 
tio more. 

The songstress then gathered up her long, flowing 
hair in her shapely hands and wrung it in the air, as 
is done in washing. Her head, the profile of which 
we could distinctly see, leaned slightly forward. 

“ A statue ! a Venus ! ” murmured Paul. 

“ Be silent, will you ! ” 

The lady then seated herself in a small and very low 
arm-chair, where she stretched out her limbs at ease ; 
in this poetic position she remained for several 
moments, her arms raised and her hands clasped 
above her head. But why should I continue? These 
souvenirs trouble me, and, although their impression 
has never been erased — and never will be, I may add — 
I, nevertheless, experience an embarrassment in giving 
them in so detailed a manner. Moreover, at this point 
the light was extinguished. 

Towards ten o’clock the next night, we were all 
at our friend Paul’s ! 

Everything took place exactly as upon the previous 
evening : the songstress sat at the piano, vocalized and 
then proceeded slowly to her toilet. The same grace, 
the same charm. 

Delightful souvenir of laughing youth ! 

Some time after the above-mentioned occurrence, I 

3 


52 MONSIEtTR, MADAME AND THE BABT. 


heard of the marriage of my friend de K , who, 

strange to relate, was joined in matrimony to the self- 
same beauty whom I knew so well ! 

“ The adorable woman ! ” cried I, one day. 

“ You know her, then ? ” 

“ I ? — no ! — not the least in the world ! ” 

“ But then — ” 

“Yes — no — allow me! I — I saw her once at high 
mass ! ” 

“ She is not remarkably pretty, they say.’’ 

“No,” I answered — and then, aside: “But what a 
statuesque figure ! ” 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 53 


CHAPTER IV. 


SOUVENIRS OF LENT — THE SERMON. 
PON the steps of the temple, the faithful jostle 



one another unmercifully; the toilets, already 
spring-like, glisten in the sun and sweep the dust with 
their long, floating skirts; feathers and ribbons wave 
to and fro ; the bells toll piously ; the carriages arrive 
at full trot, depositing upon the flag-stones all that the 
faubourg possesses of the most pious and noblest, 
and, returning, arrange themselves in a long line for 
the more advantageous display of their escutcheons. 

Hurry, force your way through the crowd, if you 
wish to secure a good place, for the Abb6 Gdlon 
preaches, to-day, upon abstinence, and when the Abb6 
G£lon preaches it is as if Patti sang. 

Enter, Madame ; push open the heavy, triple folding- 
doors which close noiselessly behind j t ou ; touch quickly 
and lightly the holy-water brush which the pious old 
man presents to you, and make your graceful little 
sign of the cross, being careful the while not to soil 
your ribbons. 

Do you hear those discreet, aristocratic whispers : 

“ How are you, my dear ! ” 

“ How are you, darling ! Does he still intend to 
preach upon abstinence ? Have you a good place ? ” 


54 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

“ Yes, yes ; come with me. Is that your new hat?” 

“Yes; do you like it? A little beaut}", isn’t it? 
Gracious, what a fearful crowd ! Where is your 
husband ? ” 

“A little beauty? Why, it’s superb ! My husband 
is in the warden’s pew. He started before me. He is 
really becoming quite a fanatic ; he will have nothing 
but radishes and lentils for dinner ! ” 

“What a great consolation that must be for you ! ” 

“ Don’t speak of it ! Follow me. Look ! there are 
Ernestine and Louise. What a nose poor Louise has ! 
Who would ever believe that she drinks nothing but 
water ! ” 

And these ladies advance with a little aristocratic 
air, overturning the chairs which impede their progress. 

Once seated, they sink upon their praying-desks, 
cast a penetrating, adoring and tearful glance at the 
main altar, and hide their faces in their little, gloved 
hands. 

For two minutes they are lost in graceful communion 
with the Saviour, after which they seat themselves 
again, coquettishly arranging the enormous bows of 
their bonnet-strings; and then, through their little 
golden eye-glasses, which they hold with a slight curve 
of the little finger, they critically inspect the congre- 
gation, and, while rustling the satin folds of skirts the 
amplitude of which renders them difficult to hold, they 
distribute, right and left, adorable little recognitions 
and delicious little smiles. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 55 


“ Are you well, darling ? ’ 

“ Yes, thank you. Do you see Louise and Madame 

de C down there, between the two candles? How 

can they attend service dressed in such gaudy style ? ” 

“ Oh ! I never have had much confidence in Madame 

de C ’s piety. Have you heard the story they tell 

of her — the story of the folding-screen? I will tell 
you all about it some day. Ah ! there’s the beadle.” 

The beadle, with his long, silver chain and his bald, 
polished head, appears in the pulpit. He prepares the 
desk, arranges the little white cushion, and then disap- 
pears, giving place to the Abb6 G61on, who, although 
pale from having fasted, is, nevertheless, characterized 
by his usual dignity, elegance and earnestness. For a 
moment, there is a visible agitation in the flock of the 
faithful, and then all are seated, more or less comforta- 
bly, as the case may be. A profound silence reigns, 
and all the piously avaricious eyes are fixed upon the 
orator. The little Abb6 is calm and dignified, and in 
his eyes one divines a corner of heaven towards which 
they are turned. His beautiful, white hands, encircled 
by cuffs of fine lace, rest negligently upon the red 
velvet of the desk. He waits several minutes, coughs 
twice, unfolds his handkerchief, places his square hat 
in a corner, and, leaning forward, lets fall from his lips, 
in a sweet, low, persuasive, adorable voice, the first 
word of his. sermon: 

“ Ladies.” 

He has pronounced but that one word, and yet he 


56 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

has already gained the affection of every heart. His 
eyes wander slowly over the faithful, and his glance is 
velvety, penetrating and attractive ; afterwards he 
pronounces several words of Latin, which he has the 
good sense to translate very quickly into French, 
adding : “ What is abstinence, why practise abstinence, 
and how practise abstinence? These, ladies, are the 
three points in question.” He wipes his lips, clears 
his throat and coughs : a holy trembling seizes on 
every soul. “What will he say? Splendid subject! 
Listen ! ” 

“ Is it not true, Madame, that your heart is piously 
moved, and that, at this instant, you feel a sincere 
thirst for abstinence and mortification ? ” 

The holy spot is bathed in a soft obscurity, suffi- 
ciently resembling that of your boudoir, and inviting 
revery. 

I know not what, but an ineffable and vaguely infat- 
uating something penetrates your soul. The voice of 
this handsome and reverend old man, raised in this 
prevailing silence, sounds heavenly. In the deep, soli- 
tary vaults of the temple mysterious echoes repeat his 
every word, and, in the shadow of the sanctuary, the 
great golden candlesticks gleam out through the dark- 
ness with the lustre of precious stones. The old win- 
dows, stained with symbolical designs, are suddenly 
illumined and floods of sunbeams shoot across the 
stone arches like swords of fire ! Is it heaven that 
opens ? Is it the Holy Spirit descending from on high ? 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 57 


And, wrapped in a pious, charming revery, you regard 
ecstatically the fantastical sculptures, which are finally 
lost in the great arches and strangely carved pipes 
of the hundred- voiced organ. And in your soul 
all those piously cultivated beliefs of childhood are 
revived in a moment. A vague perfume of incense 
still lingers in the air. The great stone pillars tower 
to infinite heights, and from celestial regions descends 
the golden lamp, swinging and shedding its eternal 
light upon the perfumed air. 

The suavity of the orator’s tones becomes more and 
more pronounced. The sense of his words is lost, and, 
lulled by the holy voice, like an infant sinking to sleep 
upon the bosom of God, your eyelids clbse. 

You do not sleep, but your head bows, you are sur- 
rounded by an immensity of blue, and your soul, 
enamoured of the vague, springs into celestial space 
and is lost in infinity. 

Sweet, holy sensation — delicious, infatuating ecstasy! 
And yet some speak mockingly of this religious dis- 
play, of these pomps and splendors and of this celes- 
tial music that relaxes the nerves and carries the mind 
into the regions of dreamland. Let us pity these 
scornful mockers, who know nothing of the ecstasy of 
those to whom are opened the gates of Paradise, and 
who, at will, may pass those pearly gates and walk in 
the throng of the angels of God ! 

But why speak of these scorners and of their impo- 
tent mockery? As the Abb6 Gelon says: “The 


58 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


soul is a fortress continually besieged by the spirit of 
darkness ! ” 

The mere idea of this constant struggle with this 
powerful spirit increases our power a hundred-fold, 
and sufficiently flatters our vanity. 

But hush! The Abb6 Gelon terminates his sermon; 
he is fatigued and his voice trembles. His right hand 
traces in the air the sign of peace. Then he wipes the 
perspiration from his brow, his brilliant eyes sparkle 
with a divine light, he descends the little staircase, and 
throughout the temple resound the regular strokes of 
the beadle’s staff, as he conducts the little Abb6 to the 
sacristy. 

“Was he not charming, darling?” 

“ Adorable ! and when he said : 4 May my eyes close 
forever if — ’ You recollect ? ” 

“Superb! And then when he uttered : ‘Yes, ladies, 
you are coquettes ! ’ He has said some very severe 
things to us ! He speaks beautifully though ! ” 

“Admirably ! He is divine ! ” 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 59 


CHAPTER V. 

SOUVENIRS OF LENT — THE PENITENTS. 

TJTIS four o’clock; tlie church is plunged in silence 
JL and darkness. The confused rumbling of the 
distant carriages hardly reaches the house of prayer, 
and the creaking of a boot is the only human sound 
that troubles the great calm of the temple. 

However, on advancing, you perceive, here and there, 
in the little chapels, groups of the faithful, kneeling, 
motionless and silent. Their faces are expressive of 
deep despair and fill the heart with sadness and 
inquietude. Is it a gathering of the condemned ? 

The aspect of one of these chapels is somewhat 
peculiar. About one hundred and fifty ladies, lost in 
garments of silk and velvet, are piously ranged about 
a confessional. A sweet odor of violet and vervain 
fills the air, and, in spite of yourself, you stop a moment 
before this confusion of elegance and taste. 

From each side of the confessional flow the refractory 
folds of a skirt, for, on account of the smallness of the 
little cells, the penitent has not been able to enter more 
than half-way ; and you perceive, in the shadow, the 
movements of her head, and divine, by the swaying 
of her long, white feather, that she has bowed her 
head beneath the remonstrance of the Abb6 and the 
repentance of her soul. 


60 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


She has hardly terminated her little story of woe, 
when six or seven of her neighbors precipitate them- 
selves one upon the other in their struggles to secure 
the vacant place. This eagerness is easily explained, 
for this is the confessional of the Abb6 G61on, and, 
when the Abb6 G61on confesses, it is precisely as if he 
preached : there is an immense crowd. 

He directs all these ladies, the good Abbd, and 
remains with an angelical devotion for hours in this 
narrow, little box, devoid of light and air, at the sides 
of which continually whisper two eternal penitents. 

The good Abb6I What renders him all the more 
adorable is that he does not detain you too long. He 
knows how to dispense with useless details. He per- 
ceives the condition of the soul with so much keenness 
and with such a sure eye that he spares you a thousand 
embarrassments, and being, moreover, a sensible person, 
as well as a man of the world, he almost renders the 
confession of these petty faults, half of which he has 
suggested himself, agreeable ! 

You approach the Abb6 somewhat embarrassed by 
the weight of your packet of sins, and, while you hesi- 
tate where to begin, he unties all the knots with a 
discreet and skilful hand, examines the contents 
rapidly and smilingly consoles you. The confession 
is made before you have had a chance to pronounce 
a single word, and all this in such a manner that you 
exclaim, in prostrating yourself before God : 

“ I was pure, pure as the lily, and yet I was alarmed ! ” 


MONSIEUR; MADAME AND THE BABY. 61 

And even when in his sacerdotal robes he becomes 
more than man, and speaks in the name of God, the 
sound of his voice and the keenness of his glance 
betray a native distinction and reveal a courtesy which 
certainly could not detract from the excellence of any 
clergyman. 

If God desires that there be a Faubourg Saint- 
Germain in this world — and who will deny that he 
does? — is it not just that he give us a minister capable 
of speaking as we speak and of comprehending our 
ideas of delicacy ? That is self-evident, and, really, I 
cannot understand certain ladies who speak continually 
of the Abb£ Brice ; not that I wish to detract from the 
merits of this good Abb£ ; this is neither the time nor 
the place for calumny. He is a holy man, but his holi- 
ness is of a somewhat vulgar kind and requires much 
polishing. 

You must dot your is for the Abb6 Brice ; he under- 
stands badly, or he does not understand at all. Confess 
a little sin to him, and he knits his brow; he must 
know the hour, the minute, the circumstances and the 
causes ; he examines it, turns it over and over, weighs 
it, and ends with a thousand questions and by being 
indiscreet. Is there not, even in the holy mission of 
the minister, a manner of being politely severe and of 
remaining a gentleman among well-bred people? 

The Abbd Brice has a decidedly plebeian air — why 
should I not sayit? — and that ruins him. Then, again, 
he is rather republican in his tastes ! His shoes never 


62 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


fit at all, and his nails are deplorable ! When he wears 
gloves — twice a year — his hands are stiff and his 
fingers extended ! 

I do not deny that he possesses admirable virtues, 
you understand ; but, do what you may, you will never 
be able to induce a society woman to confess her little 
sins to the son of her dairyman and say: “My father!” 

Of course, it is unnecessary to be absurdly fastidious 
in this respect. But this excellent Abb6 Brice smells 
so strongly of snuff! All sorts of people confess to 
him, and you will agree with me in this, that it is 
detestable to find your waiting-maid or your cook in 
the same confessional with yourself. 

No one, dear Madame, understands Christian humil- 
ity better than you do ; but, then, you are not used to 
riding in the omnibus, nor do you care to contract the 
habit. They say that in heaven you will be only too 
happy to call your coachman brother and Rosalie sister, 
but these good people shall have passed through purga- 
tory long before that, and fire purifies everything, you 
know. But who will dare to assure me that Rosalie 
will ^never see heaven, since you yourself, dear Madame, 
are not sure of being accepted ? 

Therefore, you can easily understand why the Abb6 
Galon’s chapel is always full to overflowing; and, if 
people whisper a little, it is only because they have 
been waiting three whole hours and because they all 
know each other. ^ ^ 

In fact, all these ladies are 'there. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 63 


“ Please make a little room for me, my dear,” 
whispers a lady who has just arrived, as she makes 
her way through a confusion of skirts, praying-desks 
and chairs. 

“ Ah ! you here, my dear friend ! Come over here ! 

Clementine and Madame de B are there in the 

corner. You will have to wait two whole hours! ” 

“I am not at all astonished, if Madame de B is 

here ; she is inexhaustible, and I know of no woman 
who — tells the truth slower ! Are all these ladies still 
waiting? Ah! there is Ernestine. (She salutes her 
with a discreet little wave of the hand.) She is an 
angel, the dear child ! She confessed to me the other 
day that her conscience was sorely troubled because 
she could not force herself to embrace the mat at the 
Passion hour ! ” 

u Ah ! charming! But, tell me, did you embrace it?” 

“I? No, indeed ! It was very dirty, my dear ! ” 

“ But does your conscience not condemn you, 
darling ? ” 

“ Oh ! I confess all these little things in a body. I 
simply say : ‘ My father, I have had human respect.’ I 
give the sum total.” 

“ Precisely ! So do I, and this good Abb4 G61on 
gives an acquittal.” 

“ Well, seriously, he would not have time to do other- 
wise, even if he desired. But I fear that we are chat- 
ting too long, darling. Permit me to contemplate my 
sins.” 


64 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


Madame sinks upon her praying-desk. Without 
turning her eyes from the altar, she removes her glove 
from her right hand and turns her Sainte-Genevi&ve 
ring, which serves her as a chaplet. Then, her eyes 
cast down and her lips compressed, she opens her 
prayer-book, the clasp of which is adorned with a fleur- 
de-lis, and seeks therein those prayers suitable to her 
condition. 

“ Ah ! Madame de P has finished at last ; she is 

as red as a turkey cock ! ” 

Four ladies rush, with pious precipitation, to 
replace her. 

“Ah! Madame, please do not push me in that 
manner ! ” 

“ But, Madame, I was here before you ! ” 

“I beg your pardon, Madame, but — ” 

“You have a singular idea of the respect due the 
house of prayer ! ” 

“Hist! hist! Take advantage of the opportunity, 
Madame ; make your way through and get the vacant 
place ! (Whispers) Do not forget the big sin of 
yesterday, or the two little ones of this morning ! ” 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 65 


CHAPTER VI. 

SOUVENIRS OF LENT — A FIRESIDE CHAT. 

M ADAME (waving her little hand in the air). It 
is quilled, quilled, quilled ! The sweetest quil- 
ling ! And it is trimmed all around with the loveliest 
light colors ! 

Her Friend. There’s some style about it, my dear. 
Madame . Yes ; it will be very attractive, I’m sure ; 
and then, over this moss, this snow, fall the long blue 
silk ruffles, which match the body. But such a blue ! 
It is charming ! It is somewhat deeper than sky-blue. 
My husband calls it a discreet blue. 

Her Friend. Ah ! charming ! Your husband is full 
of jokes. 

Madame. Of course. You understand immediately: 
discreet blue ! That gives an idea. 

Her Friend. Speaking of his jokes, do you know 
that Ernestine has never forgiven him for his pleasantry 
of the other evening? 

Madame. What pleasantry? Do you mean the 
other evening when the Abb6 G61on and the Abb6 
Brice were present? 

Her Friend. And his son, who had just arrived. 
Madame. What ! the Abbe Brice’s son ? (At this 
both burst out laughing). 


66 MONSIEUll, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

Her Friend. Ah ! ah ! ah ! what are you saying. 
Ah ! ah ! how cruel in you ! 

Madame. I said the Abb 6 Brice, and you added : 
“ and his son ! ” It’s your fault, darling. The cherub 
ought to be a choir boy ! (Both ladies indulge in 
hearty laughter.) 

Her Friend. (Placing her hand upon Madame’s 
mouth.) But hush! hush! it’s sinful! — and in Lent! 
— Oh! 

Madame. Whose son were you speaking of, then ? 

Her Friend. Ernestine and Albert’s, of course ! A 
perfect flower of innocence ! He heard your husband’s 
pleasantry, and his mother was sorely vexed. 

Madame. I don’t understand you, my dear ; tell me 
all about it. 

Her Friend. Well, on entering the parlor and seeing 
the two candelabra lighted, and the two Abb6s, who 
happened to be between the lights at that moment, he 
seemed to be looking for something. “What are you 
seeking ? ” asked Ernestine. “ I am looking for the 
holy-water font,” said he, aloud ; “ pardon me, dear 
neighbor, for having arrived in the middle of the 
service ! ” 

Madame. Is it possible? (Laughing.) Well, the 
fact is he never has good luck ; that is the second time 
he has met those gentlemen at Ernestine’s. Her 
parlor must be a sacristy ! 

Her Friend. (Rather dryly.) A sacristy, my dear ! 
How free-thinking you have become since your 
marriage ! 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 67 

Madame. Become ? I never did care to meet the 
priests anywhere but in church. 

Her Friend. You are a child, but a thoughtful one, 
my dear ! What ! you do not care to meet the 
Ahb6 G61on ? 

Madame. Ah ! the Abb6 G61on ; that’s another 
thing ! He is so charming ! 

Her Friend. (Quickly.) And so elegant, isn’t he? 

Madame . And so venerable ! How beautifully his 
white hair falls about his pale, earnest face ! 

Her Friend. Oh ! he is earnestness itself! And his 
glance, his sweet, tender glance ! The other day he 
spoke of meditation, and he was simply divine ! Once 
he was forced to pause and dry his tears ; he was no 
longer master of his emotion ; he grew calm almost 
immediately, however ; he exercises so much self-re- 
straint ; he continued, calmly, ’tis true, but then we 
were deeply moved in our turn. It was electric ! The 
Comtesse de S , who sat near me, wept like a foun- 

tain under her yellow bonnet ! 

Madame. Ah ! yes ; I have seen her yellow bonnet ! 
What a bunch of a thing this Madame de S is ! 

Her Friend. Well, the fact is she is always a per- 
fect jumble ! By the bye, do you know that they have 
offered the bishopric ? A fact ! I have it on good 
authority. My husband was told by the gentlemen 
themselves. 

Madame. (Interrupting her.) They offered Madame 

le S a bishopric? They did wrong ! 

4 


68 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


Her Friend. You jeer at everything, my dear. 
There are, however, some subjects worthy of respect. 
I meant to say that they have offered the Abbd Gelon 
the mitre and the staff ; but he has declined to accept. 
The shepherd’s staff would not be amiss in his hand, 
nevertheless. 

Madame. Oh ! as far as that is concerned, he has 
a most charming hand. 

Her Friend. And it is so white, so shapely and so 
aristocratic. We do wrong, perhaps, in dwelling upon 
these worldly details ; but really he has such a beauti- 
ful hand ! (with enthusiasm.) My experience is that 
the Abb6 Gfflon makes one love religion! Do you 
attend his lectures ? 

Madame. I was at the first. I wished to attend on 
Thursday, but Madame Savain came to try on my 
new dress ; I was an eternity discussing the biasses and 
the ruffles. 

Her Friend. Oh ! the ruffles are cut bias ? 

Madame. Yes, yes, and have a whole host of little 
cross-bars ; the idea is my own. I have never seen its 
like anywhere ; I am sure it will be highly attractive ! 

Her Friend. Madame Savain told me that you have 
dispensed with the shoulder-pieces. 

Madame. Oh! the tattler! Yes; I wish but a 
ribbon, a mere nothing, on the shoulder — something to 
which I can attach a trinket. I was a little afraid that 
the body might be too plain. Madame Savain had 
placed a few ridiculous gewgaws upon the front ; and, 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 69 


while I was about it, I wished to try my eternal cross- 
bars, you know. So I was prevented from going to 
"the good Abb6 Galon’s lecture. They say he was 
- admirable ! 

Her Friend . Oh ! superb ! He spoke of realistic 
books ; there was a terrible crowd. He completely 
annihilated all those horrors of M. Zola. What a 
monster that man must be ! 

Madame. Have you read the books “Nana” and 
“ Nana’s Daughter ” ? 

Her Friend. God forbid ! But they must be very 
powerful works, since the Abb6 Gelon, in speaking to 
one of my husband’s friends, pronounced them — 

Madame. Well, what? 

Her Friend. I dare not tell you, for, if it be really 
true, it is terrible. He said they were (whispers) 
diabolical ! It is confounding, is it not ? And they 
sell his photographs ; he has a diabolical air. (Look- 
ing at the clock.) Half-past two ! Oh ! I have not 
given orders for dinner yet! These three days of 
fasting in each week have reduced me to a state of 
martyrdom. I must vary the food a little — my hus- 
band is very hard to please. I really should lose 
my mind if we could get no fish. How do you 
manage it, my dear? 

Madame. Oh ! it’s very simple : provided that I do 
not prohibit him from eating what he likes, he is 
contented with everything. 

Her Friend. But I think we should subject our- 


70 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

selves to some privations in this life. Your system is 
too accommodating ! I hope, at least, that you have 
a dispensation! 

Madame. Yes ; I have everything in order. 

Her Friend . As to myself, I have permission to eat 
butter and eggs, in consideration of my position as 
sub-chancellor of the Association. The Abb6 G61on 
pressed me to accept a full dispensation on account of 
my headaches, but I refused. Oh ! I refused positively I 
Should one make a compromise with one’s principles ? 
If so, there are many persons who have no principles 
whatever. 

Madame. If you say that in reference to my 
husband, you are wrong. Auguste is by no means 
a pagan. He has the making of a good Christian 
in him. 

Her Friend. The making ! Horrors ! my blood 
boils! But I must go! Well, I shall expect you on 
Tuesday; he intends to lecture upon authority — a 
superb subject ; several allusions are expected. Oh ! I 
forgot to tell you that I take up the collection and 
shall await your offering, darling. I collect the 
widows’ farthings. Some one has suggested to me 
the idea of collecting with my little daughter upon 

my praying-desk. Madame de K collected last 

Sunday at St. Thomas’, and her baby held the purse. 

Madame. I shall certainly be there. What do you 
intend to wear ? 

Her Friend. Oh ! plain black ! 


MONSIEUK, MADAME AND THE BABY. 71 


Madame . And you are so charming in black ! 

Her Friend . It is all for the best ; I do not look so 
badly in black. Don’t forget Tuesday, and try to 
induce your husband to come ; he is so fond of music ! 

Madame. I can’t promise you that. 

Her Friend . The gentlemen are all alike ; they 
play the role of the strong-minded, but, when they are 
finally touched by grace, they look back upon their 
past with horror ! When my husband speaks of his 
youth, tears stream from his eyes. You know he has 
not always been what he now is : his youth was 
extremely agitated, the poor darling ! I rather like a 
man to know something of life, — don’t you? But 
what a chatterbox I am, and how the time is flying ! 

I have still to visit Madame W . I wonder if 

she has found her young man ? 

Madame. What, in heaven’s name, is she going to 
do with him ? 

Her Friend. Oh ! he is a young actor for her soiree. 
She is going to give a performance at her house — 
comedy, you know. For a pious purpose, of course — 
in Lent ! It is simply for the benefit of the Associa- 
tion. But I really must go ! Good-bye, my dear ! 

Madame. Tuesday, then, darling — and in grand 
style, eh? 

Her Friend. In grand style. Remember me to 
your lost one ! Adieu ! adieu ! 


72 MONSIEUR MADAME AND THE BABY. 


CHAPTER VII. 


SOUVENIRS OF LENT — A DREAM. 
ROUBLED sleep is nearly always the result of 



JL bad digestion. My friend, Dr. Jacques, will 
certify to this statement. 

Now, the other night, ’twas last Friday, I committed 
the indiscretion of eating some brill, a positively unac- 
commodating fish. 

May heaven permit that a singular dream, the 
consequence of the above, inspire you with prudent 
reflections. 

But, whatever may be the result, here is the dream 
in all its strangeness : 

In my dream I had the honor of belonging, as first 
vicar, to one of the most frequented parishes of Paris 
— an unheard-of absurdity ! I was possessed, more- 
over, of a certain stoutness, a venerable head encircled 
by numerous threads of silver, very delicate and 
shapely hands, a slightly aquiline nose, great earnest- 
ness, the friendship of the ladies and the esteem of 
M. le Curd. 

Once, as I was in the sacristy, performing various 
pious services and untying the knots of my alb, I was 
accosted by M. le Curd. I can see him still — he was 
using his handkerchief. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 73 


“ My dear friend,” he said, “ you confess, this even- 
ing, do you not ? ” 

“Most assuredly. Are you well, this morning? 
There were many people at my mass.” 

While saying this I finished my pious services ; I 
placed my alb in the closet, and offering M. le Cur6 a 
pinch of snuff: 

“ This is not breaking fast,” said I, gayly. 

“ Ah ! — ah ! — ah ! — no ! no ! It is five minutes to 
twelve, and the clock is slow.” 

We took another pinch and departed, arm in arm, 
through the little door leading to the apartment of the 
night sacraments, chatting amicably as we went. 

Suddenly I found mj^self transported to my confes- 
sional. The chapel was full of ladies, all of whom 
bowed as I approached. I entered my narrow tribunal, 
the key of which I had in my pocket. I then de- 
posited upon the bench my air-cushion, which had 
become indispensable to me on the eve of great fetes, 
on account of having to sit so long. Over my cassock 
I placed my snow white surplice, and, after having 
meditated awhile, I opened the little window which 
placed me in direct communication with my penitents. 

I shall not attempt to describe, one by one, the 
different persons who knelt at my side. Nor shall I 
tell you that a certain lady, dressed in deep black, with 
a Grecian nose, thin lips and a yellowish visage, after 
having said her Confiteor in Latin, and without the 
least hesitation, touched me infinitely by her most 


74 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

absolute confidence. In ten minutes she had found an 
opportunity to make me thoroughly acquainted with 
her sister-in-law, her brother, her uncle who was at the 
point of death and whose fortune she was to inherit, 
her nephews and her domestics. Moreover, I un- 
derstood, notwithstanding the touching benevolence 
which characterized her every word, that she was the 
victim of every one of those whom she had mentioned. 
She concluded by telling me that she had a son about 
to be married and that his state of health would not 
permit of fasting. 

I can still see an immense throng of other penitents, 
the recital of whose virtues and eccentricities would 
be, perhaps, too wearisome. I shall, therefore, with 
your permission, speak only of the last two, who, by 
the bye, made a particularly strong impression upon 
my mind. 

The first was a little lady adorned with feathers, 
who suddenly precipitated herself into the confes- 
sional; she was vivacious, sharp and rosy. Despite 
her expression of profound meditation, she spoke 
rapidly and with a flute-like voice, repeating her 
Confiteor in a manner rather inconsistent with 
common-sense. 

“ My father,” said she, “ I am deeply troubled.” 

“ Speak, my child ; you know that a confessor is a 
father.” 

“ But, my father, I really dare not.” 

There are many of these timid little hearts that 
need encouragement. 


MONSIEUR^ MADAME AND THE BABY. 75 


“ Courage, my child,” said I ; “ speak ! ” 

“My husband,” murmured she, confusedly, “does 
not wish to fast during Lent. Should I force him to 
do so, my father ? ” 

“Yes; force him by persuasion, my child.” 

“ But he says he will take his meals at the restaurant 
unless there is meat on the table. Oh ! how this makes 
me suffer ! Could I not assume all the responsibility 
myself, my father ? ” 

This little wife was really very interesting; in the 
centre of her cheek and near the corner of her mouth, 
she had placed a tiny beauty-spot, very worldly, it is 
true, but charming in the profane acceptation of the 
word, and giving a particularly sweet expression to her 
face. Her beautiful little white teeth shone like pearls 
when she opened her mouth to speak of her troubles; 
moreover, her garments emitted a perfume almost as 
soft as that of our altars, although of a different 
nature, and I inhaled this sweet odor with a scrupu- 
lous uneasiness which, nevertheless, inclined me to be 
indulgent. I was so near her that not a single one of 
the details of her features escaped my observation ; I 
distinguished, almost in spite of myself, a slight 
shivering of her left eyebrow, which agitated, at 
almost every moment, a refractory lock of her long, 
golden hair. 

“ Your position is a delicate one,” said I ; “ on the 
one side, your domestic happiness, and, on the other, 
your Christian duty.” She sighed deeply. “Well, 


76 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TI1E BABY. 

my dear child, my age permits me to speak to you 
thus, does it not ? ” 

“ Oh ! yes, yes, my father.” 

“Well, then, my dear child — ” At this moment I 
perceived or seemed to perceive, at the outer corner of 
her eyes, two little bistre-colored marks in the shape of 
arrow-heads. “ Endeavor, my child, to convince your 
husband, who, in reality — ” And, then, her long, 
curved eyelashes were underlined, if I may so express 
it, by a dark ridge, widening delicately towards the 
centre of the eye. This physical peculiarity seemed 
jto me to be rather the result of premeditated coquetry 
than the gift of nature. And yet, strange to say, the 
discovery of this weakness of this candid little heart 
only augmented my compassion. I continued, in a 
low, tender voice : 

“ Strive, my dear child, to lead your husband back 
to the ways of the Lord. Fasting is not only a 
religious but also a sanitary usage. Have you done 
all in your power to convince your husband? ” 

“Yes, my father, absolutely all.” 

“Be precise, my child; I should know the details.” 

“Well, my father, I have tried gentleness and 
tenderness.” 

What a miserable wretch this husband must be, 
thought I. 

“I have begged him in the name of our babe,” 
continued the little angel, “ to desist, lest he endanger 
my salvation as well as his own. Once or twice, I 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 77 

have even asserted that the spinage was cooked in fat, 
when such was not the case. Did I do wrong:, my 
father? ” 

“ There are pious misrepresentations which our holy 
church excuses, for she only considers the intention 
and the glory of God ; I cannot, therefore, say that 
you have done wrong. You have not, I suppose, 
subjected your husband to any of those excusable 
fits of anger which ma}^ escape from any Christian 
soul in the struggle with the spirit of error ? It is 
really unnatural for an upright man to oppose the 
mandates of the church. Make him a few concessions.” 

(With contrition.) “I have made concessions, my 
father — and I fear only too often ! ” 

“ Do not be alarmed, my dear child.” 

“ I assure you, my father, that my intentions have 
ever been in conformity with your counsels ; but his, 
my father, those of my husband, am I responsible for 
them? Oh ! that’s what troubles me ! ” 

“ I understand your scruples, my child, but do not 
be unreasonably alarmed. Does your husband com- 
municate his intentions to you?” 

“ No, my father.” 

“Well, then, my dear child, you are by no means 
responsible for the consequences, if you accept your 
position of victim with resignation and regret. Do 
you accept it thus, my child ? ” 

(Casting down her eyes.) “ Yes, my father ; I 
accept it with — with a sweet resignation — most of 
the time.” 


78 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


“ And the rest of the time ? ” I was deeply moved 
by so much candor. 

“ The rest of the time I submit also, but as a recog- 
nition of his kindness, for my husband is very kind, 
my father, and it is that which causes me to suffer all 
the more to see him wander from the narrow road. 
Sometimes, I think that I should not love him so 
deeply, so sincerely, for one should love God above 
all, is it not so, my father ? ” 

“ Yes, my child, the church should be first in the 
consideration of every one.” 

“I know it, my father; but, then, my husband 
unites with his great kindness so communicative a 
gayety, and has such a graceful and natural way of 
excusing his impiety that I laugh in spite of myself, 
when I should weep. It seems to me that he raises a 
veil between myself and my duty, and that all my 
scruples vanish under the charm of his presence and 
wit. My husband has much wit,” she added, with 
an almost imperceptible little smile, through which 
gleamed a shadow of pride. 

“ Hum — hum — ^The atrocity of this man revolted 
me.) There is no form which the tempter cannot 
assume at will, my child. Wit itself is by no means 
to be condemned, although the church avoids it as 
being a worldly garb ; but it may become dangerous 
and should be looked upon as a veritable pest when 
it tends to the overthrow of the. church and faith. 
Faith is to the soul, I need not remind you, what 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABT. 79 


the velvet surface is to the peach, and, if I may so 
express myself, what the dew is to the flower. 
Continue, my child.” 

“ But, my father, when my husband has diverted me 
for an instant, I repent immediately ; and he has hardly 
closed the door before I am on my knees praying for 
his salvation.” 

“ Quite right — quite right ! ” 

(More bravely, but still timidly.) “I — I have sewed 
a little holy relic in the lining of his coat.” 

“ And have you noticed the result ? ” 

(With embarrassment.) “For certain things, my 
father, it has been efficient, perhaps ; but for fasting it 
has not done anything.” 

“ Do not be discouraged. We are now in the holy 
time of Lent; well, continue to employ pious subter- 
fuges ; order his food to be cooked without the use of 
fat, but be careful to have it very agreeable to the 
taste.” 

u Yes, my father ; I thought of that. Day before 
yesterday I ordered one of those salmon steaks, and 
oh ! it looked so much like ham ! ” 

(With a slight smile.) “ Yes, yes ; I have seen them. 
Well ! ” 

“Well, he ate the salmon, but ordered a mutton chop 
immediately afterwards ! ” 

“ Deplorable ! ” cried I, almost in spite of myself, so 
excessive did the insensibility of this man’s heart seem 
to me. “ Patience, my child ; let the sufferings caused 


80 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


by the impiety of your husband be your offering to 
heaven, and remember that they will be credited to you 
in the end. Have you anything further to tell me ! ” 

“ No, my father.” 

“Bow down, then, and receive my absolution.” And 
the dear soul sighed deeply as she joined her two little 
hands. 

******* 

Hardly had my penitent arisen to retire, when I closed 
the window abruptly and took a long pinch of snuff. 
We of the church know full well how a pinch calms the 
spirit. Then, after having thanked God rather rapidly, 
I took out my large, old-fashioned watch, the jovial 
face of which informed me that it was not as late as I 
had supposed. The dim light of the temple had 
deceived me, and my stomach had in nowise contra- 
dicted the error. I was hungry. I banished, however, 
such thoughts from my mind, and, having shaken 
several grains of snuff from my neck-band, I loosened 
my braces which pinched me a little at the shoulder 
and then opened the window. 

“ Madame, please be a little careful,” cried my peni- 
tent to the left, addressing a lady of whom I could see 
nothing but her bonnet-strings; “please be a little 
careful ! — such a thing is really unheard of ! ” 

The tone of my penitent, which was exceedingly 
irritated, although restrained by respect for the place, 
moderated as if by enchantment upon the opening of 
my window. She knelt, piously crossed her two little 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 81 


gloveless, perfumed, dimpled and rosy hands, the 
shapely, white fingers of which were loaded with 
rings. I thought I recognized the hands as those of 

the Comtesse de B , a soul appertaining to the 61ite, 

and whom I often had the honor of visiting, especially 
on Saturdays, when an extra plate was always placed 
upon the table. 

The lady raised her little lace veil, and I discovered 
that I had not been mistaken. It was the Comtesse. 
She smiled upon me as upon an acquaintance, but with 
an admirable propriety which seemed to say : 

“ How are you, my dear Abbd ? I shall not inquire 
closely as to the condition of your health, for at this 
moment you are clothed in sacred robes, but I am 
interested in your rheumatism, nevertheless ! ” 

’Twas an irreproachable little smile, and I replied by 
as near an imitation of it as possible, yet I gave her to 
understand by the expression of my countenance that 
I was making a very great concession in her favor. I 
murmured : “You are well, my dear Madame ? ” 

“Yes, thank you, my father. (Her voice was 
angelic.) But I have just been very angry.” 

“ And why angry ? Perhaps, you are mistaken, and 
’twas but a moment of ill humor.” We must not 
frighten the penitent, you know. 

“ Oh ! not at all, my father ; it was real anger. My 
dress has just been terribly torn, and really it is very 
strange that one should be exposed to such inconve- 
niences on approaching the tribunal of — ” 


82 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


“ Bow down, my dear Madame, bow down.” And, 
assuming a very grave air, I gave her my benediction. 

I saw plainly that the Comtesse’s spirit, agitated by 
her recent mishap, sought vainly to compose itself. By 
a strange phenemenon of lucidity, I beheld not only 
the inmost struggles of her soul, but each one of her 
thoughts. The stronger her efforts to restrain her 
imagination, the more insatiable it became. “ I have 
made a serious examination of my conscience,” said she 
to herself. “Not more than ten minutes ago, on 
alighting from my carriage, I counted three sins, and 
there was one, especially, which troubled me sorely ! 
How these little faults escape one’s memory ! I must 
have left them in the carriage ! ” And she could not 
help smiling at the idea of these three little sins hiding 
themselves in the soft cushions. “ And the poor Abb6 
is waiting so patiently in his narrow little box ! How 
warm it must be in there ! His face is so red ! 
Heavens ! where shall I commence ? But I certainly 
cannot invent sins. It is my torn dress that distracts 
me. And poor Louise is waiting for me at the dress- 
maker’s. Oh ! I cannot recollect them ! Oh ! I am 
sure Louise will wait until at least five o’clock. More- 
over, the bodice fits splendidly and there is nothing to 
try on except the skirt. And just to think that I had 
three to confess only ten minutes ago ! ” 

All these different thoughts struggled so desperately 
in the mind of the Comtesse, that I had not the heart 
to refuse her my assistance. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


83 


“Let us see,” said I, with a paternal smile and a 
benevolent voice, as I twirled my snuff-box in my 
fingers, “let us see, my dear Madame. Speak 
without fear. Have you no twitches of conscience 
whatever? Have you not, at certain moments, been 
guilty of worldly coquetry, of a certain desire to 
surpass the attractions of your neighbor ? ” 

I had a vague idea that she would acknowledge these 
things. 

“ Yes, my father,” said she, smoothing out her 
bonnet-strings, “yes, several times; but I have always 
endeavored to banish such thoughts.” 

“This good intention partly excuses you; but reflect, 
my dear Madame ; consider how vain these little 
triumphs of vanity are, how unworthy of a pure soul, 
and how many impediments they oppose to its salva- 
tion. Continue, my dear Madame.” 

“ My father, it has been impossible for me to resist 
certain temptations to gormandize.” 

“Again, again! Consider, my child, consider! You 
are now at the tribunal of penitence. Promise me to 
struggle energetically against these little temptations, 
which of themselves are really not great sins, but 
being continually repeated, as in your case, they prove 
a persistent attachment to those transient, worldly 
pleasures, so displeasing in the eyes of the church. 
Has this gormandizing manifested itself by acts of more 
than usual extravagance, or is the fault simply as it 
was last month ? ” 

5 


84 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


“ Exactly as it was last month, my father.” 

“Yes, yes; still those little delicacies between 
meals.” And I sighed, gravely. 

“Yes, my father ; and nearly always a glass of Capri 
or Syracuse follows them.” 

“ A glass of Syracuse follows them, does it ? Con- 
tinue, continue, my dear Madame.” 

The mention of these choice wines and delicacies 
gave rise within my soul to distractions for which I 
demanded pardon. 

“ Do you recollect any other fault, my child ? ” asked 
I, passing my hand across my brow. 

“ No, my father ; I can recollect no other,” sighed 
the Comtesse. 

“Well, then, Madame, give birth in your heart to 
sincere repentance for those sins which you have 
confessed and for those which you have forgotten; 
consider, Madame, and humiliate yourself. Receive 
my absolution and depart in peace.” 

The Comtesse arose, smiling the while with discreet 
politeness, and then said, in her usual voice, but 
very low: 

“ I shall see you on Saturday evening, shall I not ? ” 

X bowed my head in token of assent; but I was 
rather embarrassed by my sacred character. 

I have already stated that in this strange dream I 
possessed the gift of reading the inmost thoughts of 
my penitents, so that I was well aware of what the 
Comtesse did and thought after she had left the 
confessional. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 85 


She returned to her praying-desk, where, in all the 
sincerity of her little heart, she prostrated herself, 
fervently and rapidly asking grace. She felt a great 
weight lifted from her soul as she knelt there, and, had 
it not been for her tiny watch, which told her so plainly 
that poor Louise was waiting for her at the dress- 
maker’s, she would have remained much longer in 
contemplation and repentance, for, as she knelt, the 
little Comtesse felt justly proud, in the purity of 
her soul. 

It was already late : she hurried into her pockets 
various little articles which she had used in her acts 
of worship, and, particularly, a coquettish little book 
with a golden clasp ; then, arranging her gloves, she 
made a rapid and graceful sign of the cross, and van- 
ished, pure, light and joyous. Her tiny heels resounded 
paf! paf! over the grand old flag-stones, and she 
seemed to take pleasure in this little noise which the 
pious echoes repeated, for she said to herself : 

“ Hear me walk, sacred echoes of the temple, for I 
am as pure as yourselves ; oh ! what happiness to feel 
one’s self an angel ; and oh ! how little it costs ! ” 

Her carriage awaited her at the door. She made a 
little sign with her hand, her horses advanced with a 
neigh of recognition and her footman opened the door. 

“ Drive to the Rue de la Paix.” 

“Will Madame stop at the baker’s? ” ventured the 
footman. 

“ Hum ! ” said she, her eyes fixed intently upon her 


86 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


glove. Then, suddenly, in a voice resolute and not 
devoid of pride: “No, no; stop nowhere.” 

At this moment, my ears were saluted by a loud 
noise, and, opening my eyes, I perceived Jean, who 
was lighting the fire. For an instant, my mind strug- 
gled between the dream and the reality, and 'twas not 
without a sigh that I tore myself from the influence of 
this strange nightmare. 

“What time is it, Jean?” I asked, stretching 
my arms. 

“Half-past ten. What will Monsieur have for 
breakfast ? ” 

“ Nothing — a cup of tea.” 

I still felt a weight upon my stomach. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 87 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE AMBASSADOR’S BALL. 

u T REALLY cannot assert that it does not render 
JL one attractive,” continued my aunt, as she 
touched the andiron with the tip of her little boot. 
“ Of course, it lends a particular charm to the glance 
of the eye, I must admit that. A mere dash of powder 
is excellent and a slight tinge of rouge admirable ; and, 
then, that well-nigh imperceptible little streak of blue 
which they so deftly apply under the eye — I wonder 
how they do it? Goodness! but some women are 
coquettes ! Did you notice Anna’s eyes, last Thurs- 
day, at Madame de Sieurac’s ? Is such a thing allow- 
able? Can you understand how people dare to 
do it?” 

“ I cannot say, aunt, that I detest eyes of that kind. 
They are so velvety ! ” 

“ I shall not dispute that : they are velvety ! ” 

“And, at the same time, what a strange, soft bril- 
liancy they possess, and, oh ! such an expression of 
delicious languor ! ” 

“Most assuredly; but, then, it seems so like placard- 
ing one’s self. If it were not for that, I should not 
mind it so much. But it is attractive — sometimes ! 
In my walks in the Bois I have met many adorable 


88 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

creatures — so adorable in their red, their black and 
their blue ; for they also use blue, the coquettes ! ” 

“ Yes, aunt ; Polish blue. It is for the veins, you 
know.” 

(With interest.) “ They imitate the veins, do they ? 
Upon my word, it is infamous ! But you seem to be 
very well informed ! ” 

“ Oh ! I have so often taken part in society come- 
dies ; I even have quite a collection of all those 
articles at home: little pots, lip-salves, beauty-spots, 
blue for the veins, etc., etc.” 

“ Ah ! you have all those things, have you, you 
wicked fellow? Tell me, are you goii?g to the Ambas- 
sador's ball, to-morrow evening ? ” 

“ Yes, dear aunt. You intend to wear a character 
costume, do you not?” 

“ Oh ! I suppose I must, in order to be like the rest. 
Moreover, they say it will be magnificent. (After a 
pause.) Do you think I ought to powder?” 

“ Of course, aunt, in order to be like the rest ! And 
you will be adorable, I am sure ! ” 

“Well, we’ll see, little courtier.” She arose, offered 
me her hand to kiss and made a movement to depart ; 
then, turning again : “ By the bye, Ernest, since you 
intend to go to the Ambassador’s to-morrow evening, 
you had better call for me. I offer you a place in my 
carriage. You can tell me how you like my costume — 
and — and — .” She laughed heartily as she bent to my 
ear and whispered : “ Can’t you bring those little pots 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 89 


of yours along? Come early, if you do! It is sub 
rosa, you know! ” And she placed her finger upon her 
lips to indicate that silence must be maintained upon 
the subject. “ To-morrow, Ernest, and don’t forget to 
come early ! ” 

My aunt, as you may readily perceive from the above 
conversation, has by no means said farewell to youth 
and its charms — and she is right. She has basked in 
the sunbeams of more than twenty summers, if the 
little addition I have just made is correct ; but, then, I 
am so poor a mathematician that I should never dare 
to vouch for the correctness of this calculation. And 
why should I ? Is she not always received with a mur- 
mur of genuine admiration on entering a ball-room 
with her superb air of a crowned empress? Do not all 
the passers-by, be they who they may, turn and look 
back when, from the window of her carriage, she gives 
directions to her coachman ? And does not her voice 
still ring with the silver tones of youth, and are not 
her gestures yet characterized by the delicate, charm- 
ing grace of a woman of twenty summers? Is she not, 
finally, this good, dear little aunt, in the full bloom of 
beauty, conscious of her perfection and sure of admi- 
ration and triumph? 

* * * * * * * 

The next evening, my aunt’s dressing-room was a 
spectacle of the most perfect disorder. From all the 
half-open drawers peeped, in wild confusion, laces, 
embroideries, trinkets — in fact, all the component* parts 


90 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


of the paraphernalia of a boudoir. On the table lay 
half-open jewel-cases, papers of pins, brushes and 
combs. Ends of ribbons and thread, pieces of satin and 
silk, and leaves of crushed flowers were scattered over 
the carpet, to which a light covering of powder had 
given a dusty, whitish appearance. Several candles 
and three shadeless lamps brilliantly illumined this 
consummate disorder, in the midst of which stood my 
aunt, her head dressed, powdered, feathered and flow- 
ered, examining, with the aid of an immense mirror 
and with a practised eye, her splendid costume of a 
marquise of the time of Louis XVI. 

The waiting-maid and the dress-maker, both on their 
knees and with sleepy eyes, were twisting ribbons into 
knots and inserting pins of all imaginable sizes. 

“ Place that ribbon a little further to the left, Marie. 
Madame Savain, this bodice is fully an inch too wide ! 
I am in a sack, Madame Savain ! ” 

“ Perhaps, Madame is laced a little tighter than 
usual?” 

“ To be sure. Do you not know that, in the time ofl 
Louis XVI., the ladies’ waists were exceedingly slen- 
der? One should respect history or not undertake to 
impersonate a r61e, Madame Savain. The front is not 
bad. It is quite in conformity with the character.” 
My aunt regarded her profile in the mirror. 

“ I fear that this bias, which Madame required me to 
cut after a copy of a costume of that time, and these 
laces for hiding the shoulders will not be altogether 
conducive to Madame's comfort.” 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 91 

“But you should know, Madame Savain, that the 
ladies of the time of Louis XVI. took pride in such 
things. No, no, nothing is exaggerated. Marie, give 
me the box of patches.” My aunt moistened the tip 
of her finger, plunged it into the box with a non- 
chalant air and then, holding it up armed with a little 
black spot, she cast a penetrating glance upon her 
mirror, hesitated an instant, and, suddenly, with a reso- 
lute movement, a marvellous address, placed the patch 
exactly where she wanted it. She smiled slyly. 

The fact is that this little beauty-spot, resembling in 
appearance a tiny lady-bug caught between two roses, 
was deposited with tact, with art, and, I may say, with 
exquisite taste. It was neither too high nor too low ; 
it was exactly in its place, and, in the half shadow, the 
poor little insect seemed to be hiding itself. 

“ How late you are,” said my aunt, turning towards 
me. “ It is eleven o’clock and — we have a great deal 
to do yet.” While saying this, a little laugh exposed 
a faultless set of pearly teeth. “Do you know that 
the horses have been waiting an hour and more ? Ah ! 
I know they will catch cold down there in the damp 
court-yard.” With this she extended her tiny foot 
encased in a little red slipper gleaming all over with 
gold embroidery. Her foot being slightly fleshy pro- 
jected over the top of her slipper. 

“How do you like my looks?” 

“But, Comtesse — but, dear aunt, I should say — ” I 
was blinded by this J uly sun, the warmest of all the 


92 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


year as you know — “ I consider you adorable ! How 
delightful your hair looks.” 

“It is very well dressed, is it not? Silvani did it, 
as usual ; he has not his equal in all Paris. The dia- 
monds sparkle admirably in the powder, don’t you 
think so? Then, this style of head-dress, being high, 
lends to the neck so majestic an air. Do you know 
that I have always been quite proud of my neck ; it is 
my sole vanity. Have you brought your little pots?” 

“Yes, aunt; I have brought all my implements, and, 
if you will have the kindness to sit down, we will 
proceed to business.” 

“ How pale I am ! Don’t you think a little rouge — 
just a little — would help my looks? You know what 
I told you, Ernest?” And she turned her head, pre- 
senting to me her right eye. Oh ! I can see it still ! 
“You know, my dear Ernest, that it is only on account 
of the demands of the occasion and in order to be in 
strict conformity with my historical costume, that I 
consent to — to use your paint ! ” 

“ My dear aunt, if you move, you will cause my 
hand to tremble.” And, in fact, my hand did tremble 
as it touched her long lashes. 

“Ah! yes; a little towards the corner; you are 
right; that lends an air of velvet softness, of uncer- 
tainty! What a strange little thing it is, this tiny pot 
of blue ! Gracious ! but it must be very ugly ! Ah ! 
but I suppose the one necessitates the application of 
the other. Use powder on the hair and you will be 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 93 


forced to pass the lily white over the face in order 
not to be as yellow as a lemon ; and, if the cheeks are 
once powdered, yon are compelled to — you tickle me 
with your pencil — apply the rouge or have the look of 
a ghost ! And, now, see how wicked the demon is : 
unless you increase the size of the eyes, after having 
done all this, they look as if they were bored out with 
an auger, don’t they? And so we are led on, little by 
little. Ah ! it’s terrible ! ” My aunt laughed heartily. 
“Oh! how well you have done it! Under the eye; 
that’s it ! How it animates the glance ! What 
wretches those creatures are ; how well they know 
what is becoming! But with them it is shameful; 
it’s artfulness — nothing more or less ! Oh ! you may 
apply a trifle more blue, if you wish. I know what it 
is, now. It really is not unbecoming, is it? But how 
you curve the eyebrows ! Are you not afraid it will 
be rather too dark ! But you are right! Where did 
you learn all that ? Do you know that you would do 
a thriving business if you would practise your art ! ” 

“ There, aunt ; are you satisfied ? ” 

My aunt took her hand-glass, moved it to and fro, 
held it at a distance, brought it close to her face, 
blinked, smiled, and, at last, sinking back into her 
easy-chair : 

“I cannot but confess that it is adorable, your — 
what did you say your friends called it ? ” 

“ Making-up, my dear aunt.” 

“ What a pity they don’t call it by some other name, 


94 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


since society ladies have recourse to it. You will call 
soon again, Ernest? It certainly does lend a charm- 
ingly piquant air. But, tell me, have you not a little 
pot for the lips ? ” 

“ Certainly ! ” 

“It’s a liquid, is it not? ” 

“ It’s a sort of vinegar, as you see. Don’t stir, my 
dear aunt.” 

“ You will teach me your little art, will you not?” 
“With pleasure.” 

“Ah! but your vinegar is miraculous! What bril- 
liancy it gives to the lips, and how white and pearly 
the teeth look ! Truly, my teeth have always been — ” 
“ Another one of your little vanities ! ” 

“ There ! That’s all, is it not ? Oh ! thank you ! ” 
My aunt smiled — and pouted charmingly, on account 
of the vinegar, which stung her lips. 

Moistening her little finger, she placed another patch 
under the eye, then another at the corner of the 
mouth, and, radiant, adorable : 

“ Quick, quick ; hide your mischievous pots!” she 
cried. “ I hear your uncle coming ! Here, clasp my 
bracelets for me. Midnight ! — and my poor horses I 
Oh ! they all will have sore throats ! ” 

******* 
My uncle entered at this moment, in knee-breeches 
and domino. 

“Am I intruding?” asked he, gayly, perceiving me 
in the boudoir. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 95 


“ I suppose you are joking,” said my aunt, laugh- 
ingly. “ I have offered Ernest a seat in our carriage : 
he also is going to the Ambassador’s ball.” 

My uncle gazed upon my aunt in astonishment ; his 
e} T es beamed with pleasure and he offered her his 
gloved hand: 

“ You are delightful, this evening, my dear ! ” And 
then, with a cunning smile : “ How fresh your com- 

plexion is, and how brilliant your eyes are !” 

“ Oh ! it’s the heat of the fire ! I am almost smoth- 
ered ! But you are superb : I have never seen your 
beard so beautifully black before ! ” 

“ It is owing to my paleness. I am nearly frozen ! 
Jean forgot to attend to my fire. Are you ready?” 

And my aunt smiled upon me from behind her fan. 


96 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


CHAPTER IX. 


PRIVATE THEATRICALS — MY AUNT AS VENUS. 
INCE the day I kissed Madame de B , her 



h_} attitude towards me has been characterized by 
a coquettish reserve, which, however, is certainly 
charming. The mystery of the kiss has never been 
completely elucidated. I had just left Saint-Cyr 
when it occurred. I was full of spirit, and, at times, 
the giddiness of my heart completely blinded me. I 
say that this giddiness blinded me, and I am right, for, 
surely, one must be blind, indeed, to kiss his aunt as I 
did that day. But, let us continue. 

She was well worth kissing. My dear little aunty, 
as I called her then, was certainly one of the prettiest 
women in the world, and coquettish and elegant also ! 

When I say I must have been blind, it is because I 
now think of the consequences that might have fol- 
lowed this kiss. Her husband, General de B , 

being my superior officer, it might have plunged me 
into a maze of disagreeable difficulties, and then, again, 
there is a certain respect due one’s own family. 

But why do I summon up all these old recollec- 
tions, which have nothing in common with what I 
wish to tell you? It was simply my intention to 
inform you that, since my return from Mexico, I 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 97 


visit Madame de B quite often ; and, perhaps, 

you do the same, for she is a highly esteemed lady. 
She receives every Monday evening, and there is, 
generally, quite a throng at her house. People seem 
to enjoy themselves very much in her society. She 
invents all sorts of amusements in order to be in 
fashion. I declare, however, that I never before saw 
anything at her house to equal what I saw there last 
Monday. 

I was in the hall, and the valet was removing my 
overcoat, when Jean, approaching with a mysterious 
air, said to me : 

“ Monsieur, Madame desires to see you immediately 
in her apartment. Monsieur will have the kindness 
to pass down this passage and knock at the last door.” 

Although you may have just arrived from the other 
end of the world, such words will not fail to produce a 
certain effect. In spite of myself, I could not help 
thinking of the old story of the kiss. What could my 
aunt want of me ? 

I knocked very discreetly at the door, whereupon 
followed a series of half-suppressed titters. 

“ Not yet,” cried a merry voice. “ Wait a moment ! ” 

“I do not wish anyone to see me in this state,” 
whispered another. 

“ But you are a perfect picture, my dear — since it is 
a question of art ! Ah ! ah ! ah ! ” And there was 
great laughter and confusion on the other side of that 
wretched door. 


98 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 

“ Enter,” cried a voice, at last. I turned the knob. 

At the first glance I could distinguish nothing but 
a perfect chaos, in the midst of which struggled my 
aunt in the folds of a flowing pink robe. Her long, loose 
hair hung in wavelets upon her shoulders, and Marie, 
her waiting-maid — another jewel, of whom I shall tell 
you something one of these days — was kneeling before 
her mistress lacing her little, glossy, pink satin boots, 
which were provided with very high and pointed heels. 

The furniture, the carpet and the mantel-piece were 
groaning under the weight of a nameless mass of I 
know not what : muslin skirts thrown in every direc- 
tion, laces, a pasteboard helmet covered with gilt 
paper, half-open jewel-boxes, knots of ribbons and a 
robe. The latter was torn in half; it had evidently 
been too small. Crimping-irons were plunged into the 
coals ; little pots were everywhere, as well as brushes 
for the application of enamel and wrecks of all kinds. 
Behind two screens, which divided the chamber, I 
heard confused whispers and the peculiar rustling 
noise made by women in dressing. In a corner, Sil- 
vani, the illustrious Silvani, in an immense white 
apron, was putting away his puffs and pulling down 
his sleeves with an air of supreme satisfaction. I was 
petrified. What was going on at my aunt’s ? 

“ Ah ! it is you, Ernest, is it ? ” And she laughed 
long and heartily, as do most women who have pretty 
teeth, adding, with the air of a conqueror: “ You see 
we are about to play a comedy ! ” 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 99 


Saying this, she turned towards me, with her madly 
provoking head-dress powdered to excess. Her face 
was painted like that of an ancient priestess and her 
glance was full of assumed languor. 

I am not a child, but a captain of the Lancers and, 
moreover, rather curious; you will, therefore, easily 
understand that I must have seen a few things in my 
time. But I avow that I never was so seriously inter- 
ested as that evening. 

“ Ladies of fashion,” said I to myself, making a 
general survey of the scene, “must be possessed of 
Beelzebub himself to amuse themselves in such a way 
as this ! ” I added, aloud : “ And whom do you 

intend to impersonate, my dear aunt, in a costume so 
remarkably bewitching ? ” 

“ Good evening, Captain ! ” cried a mellow voice 
from behind the screen on the right. 

“We are waiting for you,” said another from behind 
the screen on the left. 

“ Good evening, ladies ! In what manner can I be 
of service to you?” 

“We are not going to play a piece, you know,” said 
my aunt. “ How late you always are, my friend ! 
Are they playing the comedy now? It is not a play — 
oh ! not at all ; it is a tableau vivant : ‘ The Judgment 
of Paris.’ You know all about ‘The Judgment of 
Paris,’ don’t you? I — I am to fill the r61e of Venus. 
I did not wish to take the part but they all pestered 
me to do so. Give me a pin, please — there’s one on 


100 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


the mantel-piece beside the bonbons — there, to the left, 
beside the jewel-box — near the glue-bottle, on my 
prayer-book. What! don’t you see it? Ah! at last! 
They held a pistol to my throat, as it were, until I 
promised to be Venus. But hurry! hurry! Give me 
another pin ! (Turning towards the screen to the 
right.) My dear, please pass me your lip-salve ; mine 
is altogether too pale. (To the hair-dresser, who is 
moving towards the door.) Silvani, please go to the 
gentlemen who are dressing in the billiard-room and 
in the Baron’s study. They may have need of you. 

Madame de S and her daughters are in the boudoir, 

you know. Ah ! ascertain whether Monsieur de V 

has found his apple yet. He is to be Paris, you know,” 
added my aunt, turning towards me. “ That apple 
must not be lost! Well, my dear, are you going to 
pass me the lip-salve ? Hand it to the Captain over 
the screen.” 

“ Here is the salve, Captain ; but be quick, for my 
cuirass breaks when I raise my arms ! ” 

And I saw two tapering fingers, covered with bril- 
liant rings, holding above the screen a little coverless 
pot. 

“ What ! your cuirass is breaking, Marquise ? ” 

“ Oh ! that will be all right ; only take it quickly, 
Captain ! ” 

“ It may seem very droll to you, but I tremble like 
an aspen,” cried my aunt. u Oh ! I fear I shall be ill ! 
Do you hear those gentlemen who are dressing in the 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 101 


next room ? What a noise they make ! Ah ! ah ! ah ! 
Is it not adorable ? A real band of strolling players ! 
‘Isn’t this stage life, this feverish existence, lovely? 
- Marie, close the door ; I am perfectly benumbed by the 
draught ! The actor’s continual struggle with public 
opinion, the hisses, the applause — oh ! they would 
drive me mad ! But what has all that to do with the 
representation,” continued my aunt. “The clock is 
striking ten ! Ernest, do you know how to spread the 
white liquid ! ” 

“Rather! Ah! ah!” cried some one behind one of 
the screens. 

“But really,” said my aunt, “it would be very 
extraordinary if, in all your travels, you have never 
seen any white liquid applied.” 

“ Well, to speak truly, aunt, I am quite gifted in the 
application of the white liquid.” 

“ They say it gives one the rheumatism. Does it, 
Captain ? ” 

“ Not at all. Have two logs put on the fire and give 
me the implements.” 

Saying this, I rolled up my sleeves and poured into 
a little onyx vase, which I foun<| on the mantel-piece, 
some “ Milk of Beauty ; ” then, wetting a small sponge 
with the liquid, I laughingly approached my Aunt 
Venus. 

“ Will you assure me that this preparation has no 
injurious effect upon the skin ? I really dare not try 
it ! ” And my aunt simpered like a school-girl about 


102 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


to be crowned for good conduct. “ It is absolutely the 
first time that I have used the white liquid, you know. 
What a child lam! I tremble fearfully.” 

“How foolish you are, my dear! When one takes 
part in such representations, it is necessary to submit 
to the demands of the occasion ! ” laughed one of the 
ladies from behind a screen. 

“ Do you hear, aunt? Come, put out your arm.” 

She held out to me her large, shapety arm and I 
applied the wet sponge. 

“ Ah ! la ! la ! ” cried the Baronne ; “ but it’s icy, 
you torment ! a perfect shower bath ! But tell me, 
Ernest, will it show to advantage in the light ? Marie, 
my child, heap more wood on the fire. Your prepara- 
tion dries very slowly, does it not, Captain ? ” 

“ It will take a quarter of an hour to dry, not longer; 
and then we will brush you with a very soft brush.” 

When one is frank, one should be wholly frank; 
therefore, I am going to tell you something in confi- 
dence. You suppose, doubtlessly, that when I saw the 
Baronne struggling and crying aloud, I hastened in the 
application of this icy white liquid, do you not? I 
did nothing of the kind, I assure you. I worked with 
a cunning and dissimulating slowness. But, for the 
third time, let us continue. 

At this moment there was a knock at the door and, 
instinctively, I turned my head. 

“What’s the matter, now?” cried the Baronne. 
“ Heavens ! it’s a perfect flood ! Let no one enter. 
What’s the matter ? ” 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 103 


“ Be quiet, my dear aunt.” 

“Don’t come in,” cried some one from behind a 
screen ; “ my cuirass has broken ! Marie, Rosine, 
quick ! Some pins, needles and the glue ! ” 

“ Pardon, aunt. I am grieved, deeply grieved. Be 
still, and I will dry it.” 

“Continue to paint me, please.” 

The knocking at the door was repeated, and I recog- 
nized the soft voice of M. de V , which said: 

“ I am sorry, very sorry, Baronne, to disturb you, 
but—” 

“ Don’t let any one enter ! ” cried all the ladies 
together. 

“ I do not wish to enter ; but Raoul has urgent need 
of some blue forget-me-nots, Baronne.” 

“ I will send them to you. Ernest, it’s going to run 
again. I will send them immediately ; it’s all right ! 
(In a low voice.) What a tiresome creature he is! ” 

“ But that is not all, my dear Baronne.” 

“ What else ? Be quick, the liquid is drying and I 
can’t stir.” 7 

“I cannot find my apple anywhere; is it in your 
room ? ” 

“ His apple, his apple ! What do I know about his 
apple ? ” 

“ Ah ! and then M. de Saint-P has broken his 

trident and torn his robe. How is he to get his robe 
mended? ” 

“I will send some one to mend it. But, Ernest, you 


104 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


are going to brush me, are you not? I am literally 
frozen ! He is absurd with his trident ; he does not 
appear until the third tableau, ‘Venus Rising from the 
Sea.’ ” 

Another rap at the door, but, this time, at the one 
opening upon the corridor. 

“ Well, what’s the matter, now? ” 

“ Madame’s torches have arrived,” said a valet ; 
“does Madame wish them lighted immediately?” 

“ Ah ! they are for the Miles, de N , who are 

dressing in the second boudoir. No ! of course not ; 
they are not needed until the second tableau.” 

“ Do not stir, aunt, I beseech you. So the Miles, de 

N figure in the tableaux, do they? ” 

“ Of course ; with their mother ; they represent 4 The 
Lights of Faith pursuing Incredulity’; therefore, they 
must have torches. It will be, perhaps, the most 
attractive tableau of the evening. It is an indirect 
compliment to the nephew of Monseigneur, you know, 
— the dark young man with curly hair and angelic 
eyes ; you saw him last Monda}'. He is very highly 
esteemed at court; he very kindly accepted our invita- 
tion for this evening, and then M. de Saint-P 

thought of arranging this tableau. M. de Saint-P 

has an inexhaustible imagination and so much taste — 
if he only would not break so many things ! ” 

“ Is he not a chevalier de Saint-Gr^goire, also ? ” 
“Yes; and, between us, I do not think he would 
object at all to being an officer.” 


MOKSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 105 

“ Oh ! I now understand 4 The Lights of Faith pur- 
suing Incredulity.’ But tell me, aunt, do I not brush 
you too forcibly? Lift up your arm a little, please. 
Who is to impersonate Incredulity ? ” 

“ Oh ! don’t speak of it ; it’s quite a history. As it 
happened, the distribution of the rSles took place pre- 
cisely the same evening His Holiness’ Encyclical was 
published, and, of course, the gentlemen were some- 
what animated. M. de Saint-P was particularly 

excited, and, at one moment, I thought the General 
would go beyond all bounds. Well, to be brief, no 
one wished to have anything to do with Incredulity, 
and I was forced to have recourse to John, the Gen- 
eral’s coachman. You have seen him ; he is quite a 
good-looking fellow, and, moreover, a protestant, I 
believe, so you see that the role will not be altogether 
inconsistent with his habits.” 

“ It must, nevertheless, be disagreeable to these 
ladies to have to figure in the same tableau with a 
servant.” 

“Oh! well, such scruples must not be carried too 
far; this man will be blackened and lie flat on the 
floor ; the three ladies will place their feet upon him ; 
the laws of propriety will, therefore, be regarded. But 
have you not finished ? My head-dress is very well 
arranged, is it not ? Oh ! there is no one like Silvani. 
He wished to apply a little rouge ; but I shall wait 
until it has been more extensively introduced into our 
circle of society.” 


106 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

“ Certainly, aunt, certainly. And now you are 
finished. Do you intend to go upon the stage imme- 
diately ? ” 

“ Oh ! no. Goodness ! it is nearly eleven o’clock. 
I am as timid as a child. The mere thought that I 
must appear in this costume before all these people 
takes my breath away ! Do the flowers that fall from 
my hair hide my neck, Ernest? Will you not push 
them back a little ? ” 

Then, approaching the door opening into the next 
room, she gave two little knocks, saying : 

“Are you ready, Monsieur de V ?” 

“Yes, my dear Baronne. I have found my apple, 
but am very much agitated. Are Minerva and Juno 
costumed? Oh ! you have no idea how agitated I am ! ” 

“Yes, yes; everyone is ready. Tell them to ring 
the bell. Oh ! how my heart beats, Captain ! ” 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 107 


PART SECOND.— HOUSEKEEPING. 


CHAPTER I. 

FATHER Z ’S INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE. 

L ADIES and Sisters: 

Cupid, in the matrimonial state, is entirely too 
much at ease: he lies, with too much nonchalance, at 
full length in too luxurious arm-chairs and contracts 
the habit of wearing a morning wrapper. His palate 
grows capricious, he is troubled with bad digestion, his 
appetite diminishes, and at evening, in the too comfort- 
able folds of his carefully prepared nest, he reads his 
> papers, yawns, dozes, snores and is unconscious. You 
may disagree with me in this, my sisters, and exclaim : 

“ You are wrong, Father Z . You know nothing 

of matrimony — nothing at all, reverend celibate ! ” 

But I declare to you that it is even as I have said, 
and, moreover, that you in reality decidedly and abso- 
lutely agree with me. Yes, your poor hearts have only 
too often throbbed in pain, and, sometimes, you have 
wept, poor angels, while vainly awaiting the realization 
of yesterday's dream. 

“Alas ! ” you sigh, “is it then at an end? One day 


108 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

of summer — then thirty years of winter! — and I so 
love to bask in the sunlight ! ” Such are your thoughts, 
my sisters. 

Not knowing what to say, you raise no voice of 
complaint. Forgetting yourself in your doubts, you 
consider it your duty not to wake Monsieur when he 
has once fallen asleep ; you have contracted the habit 
of walking on tip-toe in order not to break the deep 
silence, while your husband yawns deliciously as he 
succumbs to the influence of that doze which is but 
preparatory to profound slumber ; or, he returns to his 
club, where he is received like the prodigal son ; and 
you, poor poetess without pen and ink, take consolation 
in the contemplation of your sisters who follow the 
same road as yourself. 

Every one of your pockets, ladies, is full of manu- 
scripts : adorable poems and delightful romances ; you 
need but a reader, and your husband seizes his hat and 
cane at the merest glimpse of the little characters you 
have traced. He is firmly persuaded that there are no 
romances save those in print, and, having read too 
many of those, he is of the opinion that no more should 
be written ! 

It is this state of affairs that you so heartily detest. 

I look upon you, my dear sisters, as poor victims, 
and, with your permission, shall express my opinion of 
the subject in question. 

Esteem and friendship are very pleasant and respect- 
able sentiments, and as fully adapted to housekeeping 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 109 


as our daily bread ; but a dash of preserves does not 
spoil the tart, does it? 

I cannot imagine why people take pleasure in repre- 
senting marriage as a contract which, once signed, 
) becomes a source of eternal regret. 

I do not pretend to assert that it is not prudent to 
reflect upon the seriousness of the contract, but it 
should be done with less affectation. Warn persons 
that there are thorns, of course ; but, by the gods ! 
there is also something else in marriage — something 
else which renders its duties delightful and makes 
delicious those bonds which, if we should believe 
slander, are but the shackles of the galley-slave. Why, 
according to some, one might as well condemn him- 
self to saw wood all his life as accept the hand of a 
pretty little woman, whose heart and head are as fresh 
and bright as the morning dew ! 

A stately husband — a little bald, if you wish — is 
very well, indeed; but a young husband, who loves 
you and drinks without hesitation from your glass, is 
much, very much better. Do not chide him if he 
happen to rumple your dress or to imprint a kiss upon 
your cheek in passing by. Bear in mind, rather, that 
he loves you ! Do not be frightened if, in the evening, 
when the fire crackles merrily on the hearth, he cry 
out, suddenly, tapping his forehead : 

“ My little darling, sit down here ; I have a new idea 
for arranging your hair ! ” 

And what if he roll up his sleeves and entangle your 
curls a little — where is the harm? Oh ! bless his child- 


110 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


ishness and remember that behind this seeming folly is 
hidden your happiness ! Thank heaven if in marriage, 
which they have represented to you as a career, you 
find a sunny and a joyous side ; if in your husband 
you find the beloved reader of the pretty romance you 
have in your pocket ; if, while wearing fine cashmeres 
and attaching costly jewels to your ears — which are very 
agreeable — you find in the society of your husband 
the joys of sincere love and affection — which are 
delightful ! 

Before accepting my theories, ladies, although your 
souls and consciences may pronounce them perfect, 
you will, beyond a doubt, have to conquer a few little 
prejudices, and, especially, to struggle against your 
education, which, as I have often said and now repeat, 
is deplorable. But these difficulties are by no means 
insurmountable. Remember that, under the pretext of 
education, you are simply stuffed, my dear sisters. 
You are varnished too soon, like those pictures which 
are prepared for sale, and which crack and split six 
months after the purchase. Your nature is entirely 
neglected ; you are not cultivated : you are moulded 
and pressed like those jew trees of Versailles, which 
represent goblets and birds. But you are women, 
in spite of all this, although your resemblance to 
^ humanity is not very striking. 

You are given to your husbands in a most deplorable 
condition : you are swaddled, deformed and filled with 
prejudices and social ideas as heavy and clumsy as 
paving stones, and all the more difficult to remove 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABT. Ill 

^because you look upon them as sacred. You enter 
upon the journey of marriage with so much baggage, 
generally and absurdly considered indispensable, that 
your husbands, who are not angels, grow irritable at 
the first station, despair of the entire encumbrance, 
leave you to attend to it yourself, and get into another 
car. I do not mean to say, understand me, that nature 
should be allowed to take its own course, or that your 
instincts, good or evil, should be permitted to have full 
sway; but I do mean to say that your poor minds 
should not be subjected to the same treatment as that 
to which the Chinese women of quality subject their 
feet — they should not be enclosed in porcelain shoes. 

A marriageable girl is a product of maternal indus- 
try, requiring ten years for reconstruction and five or 
six years more of marital study to be reduced to her 
true and original shape. 

It requires ten years to make a wife, and six years 
more to make of this wife a woman. 

All this is time and happiness lost eternally, unless 
you strive to assist your husband in the process of 
your reconstruction. 

The sole guarantee of good faith between man and 
wife is love. We never remain by the side of a trav- 
elling companion, unless we find pleasure and happiness 
in his society. 

Do you not agree with me, my good sisters ? Do 
you not feel that love, which is so often excluded from 
marriage, should be its veritable keystone ? To make 
one’s self loved — ah! there’s the difficulty! Believe 


112 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


the white-haired old man who tells you this, my sisters, 
and let him give you a few more words of advice. 

Yes; I believe in marriage, joyful marriage, when 
two persons share each other’s ideas and troubles, 
joys and affections. Exclude from this double life 
all personal importance and affectation, but season it 
with a dash of gallantry and companionship. Exer- 
cise, even in your intimacy, the same coquetry that 
renders you so agreeable in society. Seek to please 
your husband. Make him love you. Imagine that 
your husband is an audience whose sympathy must 
be gained. Think of those precious jewels which are 
placed so carefully, so artistically, in their caskets of 
satin; never forget the casket. Let your bower be 
one of pleasant shade, and make your presence felt 
by a thousand little nothings. Put a little of your- 
self in the arrangement of everything. Be artistic, 
delicate and cunning — you can do so with but a 
slight effort — and let your husband see in all that 
surrounds him, from the lace on the curtains to the 
perfume of your garments, that your sole and supreme 
desire is to please him. 

Do not say to him : “ I love you ; ” but lead him to 

ask : “ Do you love me, darling ? ” — and answer 

“no,” but with a little kiss that means “yes!” Let 
him feel, at your side, so happy in the present that he 
will forget the past, and be careful that nothing about 
you recall that past to his memory; he would never 
pardon you for that offence! You are characterized, 
above all, by a freshness of heart and mind. You are 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 113 


inquisitive in regard to life and have need of develop- 
ment; you are innocent and your impressions are 
fresh. All this lends you — perhaps without your 
knowledge — an irresistible charm. Be yourself, and 
you will be, for your beloved husband, something new 
and a thousand times more charming than anything he 
knew of in the past. Conceal from him neither your 
candor nor your inexperience, neither your childish 
joys nor your infantile fears; but let all this be as 
coquettish as are your pretty features, your large, 
bright eyes and your long, wavy hair. 

Use a little address and have confidence in yourself. 

It is growing late ; I shall, therefore, epitomize, as I 
do not wish to delay your dinner. 

For heaven’s sake, dear ladies, win back your hus- 
bands’ hearts ! And then, from time to time, when 
you are chatting together, think what good luck you 
have had and how happy you are in your mutual love ! 

May heaven smile benignly upon youth and sin- 
cerity. Let us love one another, and laugh with all 
our hearts while spring is in full bloom. Let us love 
our babies, the darlings, and our wives. Yes ; that is 
moral and wholesome ; the world is not a damp cloister 
and marriage is not the grave. Shame upon those who 
find in its holy companionship only sadness, weariness 
and sleep. Do you not understand that it is the family 
I am defending, that I am preaching the happiness of 
life and the joy of being one — that sweet joy of 
friendship and love which purifies our souls? 


114 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


CHAPTER II. 

AT THE TOWN HALL — AT CHURCH — MADAME’s 
IMPRESSIONS. 

M ARRIAGE at the Town Hall is certainly very 
important ; but is it really possible for a person 
of delicate feeling to take this ceremony into serious 
consideration? I have undergone this painful for- 
mality, as has every one, yet I cannot think of what I 
was subjected to at the Town Hall without a feeling of 
humiliation. I had hardly alighted from my carriage, 
when I perceived, to the right, a muddy staircase ; the 
walls were papered all over with advertisements and 
notices of every imaginable tint, and before one of them 
was a man in a maroon-colored overcoat, without a hat 
and with a pen behind his ear; under his arms were 
masses of documents and he was rolling a cigarette with 
his ink-stained fingers. To the left, through an open 
door, I perceived a dozen drummers of the National 
Guard, in a low, dark hall, smoking very strong, black 
pipes. My first thought on entering this barrack was 
that I had done well not to wear my gray dress. We 
ascended the stairs, and I saw a long, dimly-lighted 
corridor. It was very dirty and was ornamented with 
a great number of glazed doors upon which I read: 
“ Funerals. Turn the Knob” — “Dispossession” — 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 115 


“ Deaths. Knock Loudly ” — “ Complaints ” — “ Births ” 
— “ Health,” etc., and, at last, “Marriages. Turn the 
Knob, if You Please.” At this door we entered, 
escorted by a small boy who carried a bottle of ink. 
The air in the room was thick, heavy, over-heated and 
sickening. Happily, however, a servant in a blue 
livery, who very closely resembled the drummers I had 
seen in the hall below, soon came and excused himself 
for not having introduced us, immediately upon our 
arrival, into the Mayor’s Office (this is the waiting-room 
of the first class). I precipitated myself into this 
office as one, caught in a shower, precipitates herself 
into the first hack that passes. The Mayor’s Office was 
characterized by an air of provincial and vulgar 
importance that amused me much. The clock was 
one of those which persons holding lucky numbers 
gain at the lottery conducted by the Soci6t6 de Saint- 
Vincent-de-Paul. On the opposite wall hung a wheel- 
barometer, smiling gravely at the clock. A bookcase, 
standing in a very awkward position, seemed placed 
there for the sole purpose of concealing a door ; and 
above the bookcase stood a plaster bust of Napoleon. 
In the middle of the room was an immense table 
covered with ink-stained green cloth. 

Almost immediately, two individuals, one of whom 
resembled the cashier of the Petit-Saint-Thomas, 
brought in two registers, opened them solemnly and 
wrote therein for several minutes, looking up, now and 
then, to ask the age, the name and the surname of each 
7 


116 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 


of us. When the cashier of the Petit-Saint-Thomas 
had finished writing, he read aloud with a nasal twang 
what he had composed, of which I understood abso- 
lutely nothing, except that my name and that of my 
betrothed were mentioned freely and frequently. We 
were then presented with pens, and we signed. The 
Mayor’s clock struck two, and I had given my dress- 
maker an appointment in order that she might finish 
my basque ! 

“ Is it over ? ” asked I of George, who, to my great 
astonishment, was very pale. 

“Not yet, my dear,” said he; “we must now pass 
into the marriage hall.” 

I was haunted by the phantom of my unfinished 
basque. We were then ushered into a large, empty 
hall with great bare walls, at the further end of which 
behind a few arm-chairs were arranged several rows of 
wooden benches, and over everything lay a thick coat- 
ing of dust. I must have been in a very bad humor, 
for it seemed to me that I had entered a railway 
station, and I involuntarily looked at mamma and my 
aunts, whose faces were red with restrained merriment 
as they passed the empty benches. The official gentle- 
men, however, who evidently considered it their duty 
not to think as we thought, were very sedate and 
majestic. I noticed that George trembled in spite of 
himself. At last, the Mayor made his appearance. He 
was a small, awkward man, clothed in a black and very 
badly fitting suit — a very respectable person, however, 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 117 


who had amassed a large fortune by selling iron bed- 
steads. But how could I possibly imagine that this 
embarrassed little gentleman, badly clothed and timid 
as he was, could by a single word, pronounced with 
hesitation, unite me in eternal bonds to my betrothed? 
And, then, his resemblance to my piano-tuner was 
fatal! No one noticed all this save myself, but to me 
it was shocking ! A few moments before, it was the 
cashier of the P etit-Saint-Thomas ! I bit my lips in 
order not to laugh aloud. 

The Mayor saluted us in the manner peculiar to gen- 
tlemen wearing white cravats — that is to say very fool- 
ishly — and began the little ceremony. He recited, with 
great precipitation, several passages from the Code, 
giving the numbers of the paragraphs as he progressed, 
and I understood confusedly that I was menaced with 
gendarmes if I should dare to dispute or disobey, in 
any manner whatever, the orders and whims of my 
husband, or, if I should refuse to follow him wherever 
he might wish to lead me, be it to the sixth story of a 
house in the Rue Saint-Victor. I was continually on 
the point of interrupting the Mayor and exclaiming: 

“ Pardon, Monsieur, but your language is not at all 
polite, and you must know yourself that there is not 
the least common-sense in what you are saying ! ” 

But I controlled myself, fearing lest I might intimi- 
date the magistrate, who seemed to be in a great hurry 
to finish. He added, however, a few words concerning 
matrimonial and social duties, but all these beautiful 


118 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


speeches, which, anywhere else, might have brought 
tears to my eyes, seemed, under the present circum- 
stances, only grotesque — and I could not forget the 
dozen drummers smoking their black pipes and the 
long line of glazed doors, on which I had read: 
“ Health ” — “ Funerals ” — “ Deaths ” — “ Disposses- 
sion,” etc. The fact that this dealer in iron bedsteads 
touched upon that which had been the subject of my 
cherished dreams would really have caused me a pang, 
if the humorous side of my situation had not absorbed 
my entire attention. 

“ George , do you swear to take Bertha as 

your lawful wife, etc.? ” asked the Mayor, as he bent 
forward. 

My husband bowed and murmured “ yes,” but in a 
very low tone. He has often told me since that he 
was never more affected in all his life than when he 
pronounced this “yes.” 

“ Bertha ,” continued the magistrate, as he 

turned towards me, “do you swear to take George 

as your lawful husband, etc.?” 

I assented, smilingly, and said to myself: 

“Yes, of course, since I came here expressly for that 
purpose ! ” 

That was all. I was married ! 

My father and my husband shook hands like good 
friends who had not seen each other for the last twenty 
years. Great tears stood in their eyes. As for myself, 
it was impossible for me to share their emotion. I was 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 119 


very hungry, and we stopped the carriage at the pastry- 
cook’s before mamma and I went to the dress-maker’s. 

The next morning ushered in the great day, and I 
arose with the sun. I opened the drawing-room door: 
my robe was spread out on the sofa and the veil, care- 
fully folded, w r as lying beside my robe; my slippers 
and my wreath were smiling from the depths of a 
white silk box. Nothing was wanting. I drank a 
large glass of water. I was excited, restless, happy 
and trembling. It was the morning of a battle in 
which I was sure to be decorated! I thought neither 
of the past nor of the future ; I was altogether 
engrossed by the ceremony, the most solemn of all, by 
the oath I was to take before God — and also by the 
idea of the immense throng in gala dress which would 
assemble expressly to see me pass. 

We breakfasted very early. My father wore his 
boots, dress pantaloons, white cravat and wrapper. 
My mother was also partly in fete costume. It 
seemed to me that the domestics served me with- the 
greatest care and respect ; I even recollect that Marie 
said to me : “ Does Madame know that the hair- 

dresser has arrived ? ” — Madame ! — the excellent girl ! 
I have not forgotten her. 

It was impossible for me to eat: my throat was dry 
and I trembled with impatience. The tones of the 
great organ pursued me, and my mind was filled with 
recollections of the marriage of Emma and Louis. I 
went to my room to dress ; the hair-dresser also called 


120 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


me Madame, and did his work so well that I could not 
help exclaiming : “ What a splendid beginning ; this 

head-dress is a good omen ! ” 

When I was dressed, I passed into the parlor, in 
order to have more room and to shake my robe a little. 
My father and George were already there, speaking 
with animation : 

“ Have the carriages arrived ? ” 

Yes.” 

“And have you arranged for the chanting of the 
Salutaris Hymn ? ” 

“ Yes, it is attended to.” 

“ And the wedding-ring ? ” 

“ Of course, I have the ring.” 

“Ah! where is my ticket of confession? Ah! I 
left it in the carriage.” 

All this was spoken very rapidly, the two gesticu- 
lating like the busiest persons in the world. As soon 
as George saw me, he pressed his lips upon my hand, 
and, while the waiting-maids were grouped around me 
arranging my skirts and the hair-dresser was clipping 
my veil, he said to me, in a very hoarse voice : 

“ You are charming, my dear ! ” 

He was not thinking the least in the world of what 
he was saying, and I replied, mechanically : 

“Do you think so? Not too short, M. Silvani. 
Don’t forget the bow, Marie.” 

When it is necessary to have an eye upon every- 
thing, one has not too much presence of mind. How- 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND “THE BABY. 121 


ever, I remembered the hoarseness of Georgeis voice, 
and I said to myself: “I am sure he has taken cold; 
one can easily see that he has had his hair cut too 
short.” I soon knew that I was right. 

“ What a cold you have, George ! ” said my father. 

“ Oh ! don’t speak of it ! ” replied George, in a very 
low tone of voice. 

It was foolish, I know, but I was almost angry with 
George for having been so imprudent. I soon forgot 
it, however, and we entered the carriage. I felt that 
all eyes were upon me and perceived, confusedly, that 
the entire street was filled with curious spectators. 

The strokes of the beadl-es’ staffs will ever find an 
echo in my heart. We remained standing a single 
moment on the red carpet. From the great organ 
pealed forth a triumphal march in all its grandeur, 
thousands of smiling faces were turned towards me, 
and, at the extremity of the long aisle, amid sunlight, 
incense, gold and velvet, were two gilded arm-chairs, 
upon which we were to sit before the altar. I cannot 
tell why an old engraving in my father’s study sud- 
denly came into my mind. This engraving represents 
the entrance of Alexander into the city of Babylon ; 
he is seated upon an elephant gleaming with jewels. 
You must have seen it. But Alexander was guilty of 
many crimes, while I was pure. 

As I passed, all the heads bowed like a field of grain 
before the breeze. My friends, my relatives and my 
acquaintances greeted me with smiles of gladness, and 


122 MONSIEUR^ MADAME AND THE BABY. 


I perceived — for one sees everything, in spite of one’s 
self, on such solemn occasions — that everybody 
thought me superb. On reaching the gilded chairs, 
I knelt immediately upon the praying-desk and 
thanked God for his goodness. The triumphal tones 
of the organ were hushed, and I heard my poor 
mother weeping at my side. Oh ! I know what a 
mother’s heart must feel in the midst of such a cere- 
mony ! As I looked at the priests, who were advancing 
with great solemnity, I perceived George ; he seemed 
annoyed, and his lips were tightly compressed. I have 
never entirely forgiven him for not being more 
impressed by what transpired that day; but men 
cannot understand the poetry of such a scene. 

The discourse of Monseigneur, who married us, was 
a masterpiece, and, morever, was pronounced with that 
deep earnestness and that graceful dignity which, as 
you know, characterize his every word. He spoke of 
our two families. One might have heard a pin drop, 
so deep was the silence in which the assembly listened 
to the voice of the prelate. Then, he turned towards 
me, intimating by a thousand delicate allusions that I 
was about to marry one of the noblest officers of the 
army. Monseigneur then addressed George, in a sweet 
and earnest voice : 

44 Monsieur,” said he, 44 you are going to take as a 
companion a young woman ” — I hardly dare to recol- 
lect all the graceful and delicate remarks the prelate 
made about me — 44 a young woman raised piously by 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BAB Y. 123 


a Christian mother, who has imparted to her all her 
own virtues and charms.” Mamma sighed deeply. 
“ She will love her husband as she has loved her 
father — a father full of tenderness, who, from her 
cradle, taught her the beauty of noble sentiments 
and the virtues of disinterestedness.” Papa smiled, 
complacently. As the prelate pronounced these words, 
a sunbeam fell upon his venerable forehead ; I saw it 
through my tears. 

Monseigneur then requested us to arise, and 
we remained standing, one before the other. We 
exchanged rings, and the prelate pronounced, slowly 
and gravely, several words of Latin the meaning of 
which I could not understand, but which moved me 
infinitely, for his hand, white, delicate and transparent, 
seemed to bless me. At the same time, the censers, 
swung by the hands of children, filled the air with a 
sweet perfume. What a day ! I was dazzled, con- 
fused and overwhelmed. I recollect, however, the 
hat trimmed with white roses which Louise wore. Is 
it not strange that some persons have an absolute 
lack of taste? 

On going to the sacristy, I gave my arm to the 
General, and it was then that I beheld the audience 
face to face. Ever}' one seemed moved. 

I was soon surrounded and greeted by great throngs. 
The sacristy was filled to overflowing with persons 
anxious to congratulate me, and I responded to all 
the smiles and compliments by a little nod. I was 
married ! 


124 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


CHAPTER III. 

MY WEDDING NIGHT. 

HANKS to the habits of country life and to the 



X solemnity of the occasion, nearly every one had 
retired early. Everybody had pressed my hand, some 
with official gravity resembling condolence and others 
with a silly cordiality equally disagreeable. 

General de S and the Prefect, two very old 

friends of the family, lingered long at the card-table. 

But I have forgotten to tell you that this occurred 
on the evening of my marriage, and I was, seriously, 
very tired. During the entire day, I had had about 
two hundred persons at my heels. All day long, I had 
smiled without wincing. On quitting the church, guns 
had been fired under my very ears, and I had been 
offered an enormous bouquet. Moreover — this is sub 
rosa — since eight o’clock in the morning, my poor feet 
had been unmercifully compressed in too narrow boots, 
and, at this moment, it was, at least, half-past twelve. 

I had conversed with everybody, except my dear 
little wife, from whom they seemed to take pleasure in 
separating me. Once, as I ascended the stairs, I 
secretly pressed her hand ; but this act cost me a black 
look from my mother-in-law, which called me back to 
the realms of reality. Perhaps you have passed 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 125 


through this day of violent effusion and general 
expansion? If so, you will agree with me, Monsieur, 
that one is at no moment in life more disposed to 
irritability. 

What can you say to cousins who kiss you, to aunts 
who hang upon your neck and weep the starch out of 
your vest, to all those radiant faces which surround 
you, to all those eyes which stare you out of counte- 
nance for twelve long hours and to all those bursts of 
tenderness which you have not solicited ? 

At the close of such a day, the heart is weary. You 
ask yourself: “Is it not yet at an end? Is there 
another tear to be shed, another compliment to be 
received or another hand to be pressed ? Is everybody 
satisfied ? Have they stared at the husband long 
enough? Am I positively sure that there is no one 
else to be served ? May I think of my own affairs at 
last?” All this passes through your mind like a flash 
of lightning. You had not thought of it before. At 
this very moment, your bride is in her apartment ; her 
cheeks are suffused with blushes. Her mother and her 
aunt, her cousin and the friend of the family surround 
her and smile upon her. The question is who shall 
take the orange blossoms from her wavy hair and who 
shall press the last kiss upon her rosy lips ! 

Ah ! tears come into her eyes, but they wipe them 
away. Her mother whispers something to her daugh- 
ter, speaks to her of sacrifice, of the future, of necessity, 
of obedience, and finds means of blending consolation 
with her simple but preconcerted words. 


126 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

The poor child understands nothing at all of all this, 
unless it be that this young man — she is afraid to call 
him otherwise, even in her thoughts — is about to enter 
as conqueror and address her in marvellous words. 
The poor child fears to speak ; she trembles, weeps and 
shivers*like a partridge in the hedges. The last words 
of her mother and the final adieux of her family still 
ring in her ears, but she cannot grasp their meaning ; 
her mind, where is her poor mind? She cannot tell, 
but it comes no longer to her assistance. Like a recruit, 
to whom the order is given not to break the crystal of 
his watch, she can neither listen to nor understand the 
warning. 

“ Ah ! my good Captain,” said I to myself, “ in spite 
of all this terror, she loves you ! Do you recollect the 
kiss she allowed you to take on leaving church that 
evening when the good Abbe preached so well ? — and 
then, those little pressures of the hand, those stolen 
glances ! Happy Captain ! ” 

I walked restlessly up and down the little parlor. 
Suddenly, the General, who continued his eternal 
game of 6cart6 with the Prefect, turned towards me : 

“ What a racket you are making, George ! ” said he. 
“ Will you yield, Prefect ? ” 

“Not at all, General! I experience, I shall not 
attempt to conceal it, a certain emotion, and — ” 

“ The king — one — and four trumps. My dear friend, 
your luck has deserted you,” cried he to the Prefect, 
as he pocketed several louis which were lying upon the 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 127 


table; then, turning to me: “Well, George, the fact 
is that you consider yourself obliged to keep us com- 
pany, is it not? It is already late, and B is three 

good leagues from here. My gracious ! has everybody 
gone ? ” 

“ Good night, General, good night ! ” 

My superior took his departure, and I heard him 
enter his carriage. 

“ At last,” said I to myself, “ at last ! ” 

I glanced involuntarily at my image in the mirror — 
I was purple, and my boots — I am ashamed to acknow- 
ledge it — troubled me sorely. I was furious that so 
grotesque a detail as boots should attract my attention 
at such a moment, but what could I do? 

The clock struck one — and my mother-in-law 
appeared. Her eyes were red, and her gloveless hand 
was pressing a visibly humid handkerchief. 

Upon seeing her, my first movement was one of 
impatience ; I said to myself : “ Another quarter of an 

hour, at least ! ” 

Madame de C sank into an arm-chair, took my 

hand and melted into tears, sighing : “ George — my 
friend — George — my son ! ” 

I felt that I was by no means equal to the occasion : 
“ My good Captain,” thought I, “ find a tear, find a 
tear ; you cannot extricate yourself worthily without 
that, for, unless you manage to weep a little, your 
mother-in-law will be offended ! ” 

No sooner had this stupid thought occurred to me 


128 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


than it took full possession of my mind and filled my 
heart with an absurd and foolish gayety. 

“Be calm, Madame, be calm.” 

“ How can 1, George ? Pardon me, my son ! ” 

“Do you doubt my affection, Madame?” 

I felt that this ‘ Madame ’ was somewhat too cold, 
but I was afraid of casting a reflection upon the age of 

Madame de C by calling her mother ; I knew that 

she was a little coquettish. 

“ Oh ! I have no doubt of your affection. Go, dear 
son, go ; forget my tears and lead her a happy life. 
Have no fears for me. I am strong.” 

Nothing is more intolerable than an emotion you do 
not share. I murmured the word “ mother !” thinking 
that, after all, she would be touched by such a burst 
of feeling. Then, bending over, I kissed her — with a 
grimace, for so many tears had given a salty and dis- 
agreeable taste to my mother-in-law’s cheek ! 

****** 

It had been decided that we should pass the first 
week after our marriage at the chateau of Madame de 
C . A little nuptial apartment, very nice in appear- 

ance and furnished in Persian blue, had, therefore, 
been provided for us. 

One room had been reserved especially for me, and 
it was to this cosy nest that I retired, four steps at a 
bound, after having kissed my mother-in-law. Upon 
an arm-chair, drawn near the fire, lay my wrapper and 
slippers. I did not hesitate a single instant, but 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 129 


removed my boots frantically. I strove to be calm, 
and reflected a few moments upon my situation. 

“ Captain,” thought I, “ the clock is on the point 
of striking a solemn hour. Your future happiness 
depends upon the manner in which you cross yonder 
threshold. Captain, be prudent. Your fair-haired 
bride is just beyond this door; she watches, waits 
and listens for you ; she hears your every movement. 
Every footfall upon the floor sends a thrill through 
her precious little heart ! ” I murmured this to myself 
as I removed my coat and untied my cravat. “ There 
is but one line of conduct for you to pursue,” I added. 
“ Be calm, good, gentle and loving, but, at the same 
time, do not fail to let her perceive the vivacity of an 
ardent affection and the attractive aspects of an iron 
nature.” A sudden change of thought caused me to 
put on my coat again. I was ashamed to enter my 
wife’s room in my wrapper. Would this not have 
seemed to say : “ My darling, I am at home ; only see 

how perfectly at ease I am.” It would have been set- 
ting up a claim to rights which were not yet mine ; I, 
therefore, resumed my coat, and, after a thousand 
minute cares bestowed upon my toilet, approached her 
door and gave three discreet, low raps. Oh ! I assure 
you that I trembled at the sound of those raps and 
pressed my hand upon my breast to still the beating of 
my heart. All the submissive tenderness, discretion 
and prayer that human lips can express were expressed 
in those three little knocks. She spoke not one word 


130 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


in reply, and, after a moment of agony, I decided to 
knock again. How I wished to say : “ It is I, my 

darling; may I not enter?” But I felt that this 
phrase would require an extreme perfection of intona- 
tion, and I was afraid of failing ; I remained quiet, 
therefore, with a smile upon my lips, as if she could 
have seen me, and stroked my moustache, which I had 
slightly perfumed. 

I soon heard a little dry cough, which seemed to 
reply to my knocks and grant my prayer. You can 
see in all this to what degree of perfection women 
possess that exquisite tact and delicacy which are 
entirely wanting in us. Could any one say better or 
in a more agreeable manner : “ Come ; I hear you, 

my friend — my husband ! ” I turned the knob, and 
the door slid noiselessly open over the soft, downy 
carpet. I was in the room of my bride. 

My cheeks were fanned by a delicious warmth, and 
I inhaled a vague perfume of violet or orris with which 
the apartment was impregnated. Everything was in 
charming disorder : the ball costume was lying upon 
the lounge, two lamps were burning beneath rose- 
colored shades, and on the mantel-piece were a thou- 
sand trifles and a somewhat faded bouquet of white 
flowers. I approached Louise. I avow that I was, at 
this moment, the most embarrassed man on earth. I 
murmured: “Well, my darling, well!” One says 
what one can at such moments ; I could find nothing 
more appropriate, although I searched. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 131 


I received no reply, and yet she was awake. My 
embarrassment was doubled. This silence froze me. 

“ Come,” I murmured ; “ will you not speak to me?” 
“ Let me sleep — please,” said she, at last, with a 
little suppliant air ; “ I am so tired ! ” 

“ Sleep, my beloved angel, sleep without fear. I am 
going. Sleep while I watch over you ! ” 

******* 

“ Now, Captain,” said I to myself, “ throw yourself 
into the arm-chair, and good night.” 

I reached the arm-chair, into which I dropped, 
seeking a comfortable position, like a soldier who 
bivouacs. All would have been well had not the 
terrible cold cut into my flesh ! I saw nothing within 
reach which could protect me ! 

“ Captain,” said I to myself, “ the position is 
untenable. To-morrow morning you will be crippled.” 

I waited one long moment, struggling against the 
increasing cold. At last, when the breathing of my 
wife became more regular and she seemed asleep, I 
stretched out my arm, grasped the little bellows and 
strove to revive the fire. 

If I had not sworn to be sincere, dear reader, I know 
not whether I should acknowledge that I felt, at this 
instant, horrible prickings in the nasal regions. I 
wished to control myself, but the laws of nature admit 
of no escape. My respiration suddenly ceased, I felt 
that a superhuman force contracted my features, that 
my nostrils dilated, that my eyes closed, and I sneezed 
8 


132 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


with terrible violence ! I heard a little cry from the 
other room, but, immediately after, the frankest, the 
most silvery, the most ringing of all ringing laughs 
succeeded the cry, and a soft, flute-like voice said : 

44 Did you hurt yourself — George ? ” 

She said 44 George ” after a short pause, and in so 
low a tone that I almost failed to hear it. 

44 1 am very absurd, am I not, my dear little one ? 
You are right in making fun of me ! But what can 
you expect? I am passing the night in the open air, 
and must submit to the consequences.” 

“You are not at all absurd, but you are taking 
cold.” And she laughed again. 

44 You mischievous creature ! ” 

44 That is a cruel expression, and I should do well to 
let you get sick!” This was said with an adorable 
coquetry, with a mixture of timidity, affection and 
mockery impossible to describe, but which made me 
feel that I was very stupid. 

44 You will pardon me, will you not?” said she, after 
a pause. 

44 You love me then a little, darling?” I murmured 
in her ear. 

I distinguished, in a confused sigh, a little whispered 
“ yes.” 

Heavens ! how many times have we laughed merrily, 
as we recalled these souvenirs of an already distant 
past ! 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 133 


CHArTER IV. 

THE BLUE DIARY — MADAME’S IMPRESSIONS AGAIN. 
0 WARDS midnight, mamma gave me a significant 



Jl glance and, in the midst of a very animated waltz, 
we left the parlor. In the vestibule, the busy domes- 
tics stepped aside to allow us to pass ; but I felt that 
even their eyes were fixed upon me with that curiosity 
which had haunted me all day long. The great door 
leading into the park was wide open, although the 
evening was cool, and I perceived, in the partial 
obscurity, the indistinct outlines of groups of peasants 
who had come to enjoy the fete through the windows. 
These good people were laughing and whispering, but 
they paused for an instant as we approached the stair- 
case, and I understood that it was I upon whom all 
those eyes were fixed, that I was the object of all 
those smiles. My mother’s face was greatly flushed 
and huge tears rolled down her cheeks. 

Why was it that an occasion so gay and joyful to the 
peasants was so sad to her? 

As to myself, as little disposed to laugh as to cry, I 
was, at the same time, confused, triumphant, humili- 
ated, charmed and uneasy. Upon quitting the parlor, 
I felt for an instant like one who has just witnessed a 
grand display of fire-works. The lights were extin- 


134 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


guished and the noise was hushed ; the fete was at an 
end, and I found myself in the darkness of night, face 
to face with a new condition of life. 

When I think of it now, I can hardly keep a straight 
face. How many foolish terrors assailed me at that 
moment ! 

When we reached the second story, mamma stopped 
with a sob, then took my head between her hands, 
kissed my forehead and cried: “Valentine!” I was 
not very deeply moved by mamma’s behavior, for I knew 
that she ascended the stairs with difficulty since she had 
grown corpulent ; I thought that a desire to rest and 
take breath without seeming to do so might have some- 
thing to do with her sudden pause. But at each 
creaking of the floor I shuddered, thinking: “He is 
coming, perhaps, even now ! ” 

We entered the nuptial chamber: it was as coquettish 
as possible to the eye, soft and elegant. It was beauti- 
fully furnished in the style of Louis XVI. and was 
adorned with Beauvais tapestries. The bridal couch, 
especially, was a marvel of elegance — I was not aware 
of this, however, until a week afterwards. It seemed 
to me, at the first glance, that I had entered a solemn 
place ; the air appeared heavy and I was alarmed. 

“ This is your room, my child,” said my mother ; 
“ but, first of all, come sit down at my side, my darling 
daughter.” 

At these words we both burst into tears, and my 
mother continued in the following terms : 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 135 


“ The kiss that you give me now is the last childish 
kiss I shall ever receive from you. Your husband, for 
George is now your husband — ” 

Upon hearing this name pronounced, I trembled, and, 
by a strange mental freak, I imagined Monsieur George 
— George — my husband — in a night-cap and wrapper! 
This vision darted through my mind like a flash of 
lightning in a tempest. I saw him as plainly as if he 
had been there ! The night-cap was pulled down over 
his forehead and touched his eyebrows ; he clasped my 
hand and cried : “At last, Valentine, you are mine! 
Do you love me?” And, shaking his head as he 
uttered these words, his horrible locks of hair, protru- 
ding from under the night-cap, shook also ! 

“ What a foolish thought ! ” said I to myself. “ Yet 
my father wears these horrors, and my brother, 
although quite young, has similar ones stowed away 
in his bureau. All men wear them, and at all ages ! ” 
It is frightful to say, but George appeared to me now 
with a red and green bandana handkerchief wound 
about his head ! I passed my hand rapidly over my 
e} T es in order to banish these diabolical visions. 

My mother, however, had continued to speak during 
all this time, and, attributing my movements to the 
emotion caused by her words, she said, soothingly: 

“Do not be alarmed, my darling Valentine, perhaps 
I have thrown too dark shadows upon the picture ; I 
have done so because my experience and my heart 
impose this duty on me.” 


136 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

I had never heard my mother express herself with so 
much facility, and was all the more surprised on that 
account. Not knowing what to reply, I threw myself 
in her arms. She repulsed me gently an instant after- 
wards and said : 

“You suffocate me, darling.’’ 

She made very free use of her handkerchief, from 
which the water could have been wrung ; then, after 
drying her eyes, she turned to me and said, with a 
smile : 

“Having now told you all that my conscience 
imposes upon me, I am strong ! ” 

“ Heavens ! ” thought I, “ what obscurity ! Mamma 
has said solemn things to me, thus fulfilling, it seems, 
what she considered to be her sacred duty — and I have 
not understood one word — not one ! ” I was a little 
angry with mamma, I hardly dare acknowledge it, for 
having been so incomprehensible. 

I did not make all these reflections until afterwards ; 
at that moment I experienced only a terrible uneasi- 
ness, an undefined agitation. 

“ At this very instant,” thought I, “ they notice that 
I am no longer in the parlor ; they whisper : 4 Where is 
the bride ? ’ Monsieur George is restless. What is he 
doing ? What does he think ? Where is he ? ” 

J ust then there was a knock at the door. “ It is 
we,” cried several voices, among which I distinguished 
those of my Aunt Laure and my godmother ; Madame 
de P , who never misses an opportunity of pressing 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 137 


her thick lips upon any one’s cheeks, accompanied 
them. The eyes of these ladies sparkled and their 
faces wore a curious expression which intimidated me 
greatly. Had they also sacred duties to perform? 

“Oh! but you are too pretty, my dear!” cried 

Madame de P , kissing me upon the forehead in 

that humid fashion peculiar to her ; then she sat down 
in one of the large easy-chairs in the style of Louis XVI. 

“ How pale you are, darling ! ” said my aunt ; “ but 
do not tremble in that manner ! ” At this my mother 
again burst into tears. 

My waiting-maid had not been permitted to enter the 
room ; therefore, all these ladies removed their gloves 
and placed themselves at my service. 

“ The oldest friend of the family (she always called 
herself thus) could by no means do less than make 
herself useful on such an occasion,” murmured Madame 
de P , holding her eye-glass to her eye and criti- 

cally surveying me. “ Poor dove ! what lovely arms 
and shoulders she has ! There is, not far from here, a 
young husband whom I do not altogether pity ! ” 

“ And there is also a little wife for whom I have no 
pity ! ” said my aunt. “ Oh ! there is nothing in that 
to make you blush, dear ! The fact is that the Captain 
is one of the finest men I know. Well, he is not 
exactly what one calls a handsome man — as was your 
uncle, for example. You do not recollect your uncle, 
but Madame de P must remember him.” 

“ He was ideal. Oh ! ideal in every sense of the 


138 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

word ! I can still see him at the altar : he was as 
pretty as a picture and wore knee-breeches ! ” 

“Oh! yes, he was handsome — but I know what it 
costs to have a handsome husband ! You have simply 
taken a fine one, my child, and you have done well ! ” 

I passed into a little boudoir to complete my toilet. 
There I found, upon a marble table, five or six bottles of 
perfume decked with pink, white and blue ribbons. This 
was a polite attention for which I thanked my Aunt 
Laure. I felt the blood rush to my head, and my ears 
were filled with an insupportable jingling and ringing. 
Now that I can judge coldly of my former sensations, 
I attribute this rather to anger than anything else. I 
should have been happy could I have been transported, 
at that moment, to the most obscure corner of the 
wildest of American forests, so exaggerated and un- 
seemly appeared to me this curious tenderness which 
pursued me everywhere with its engaging attentions. 
I wished to commune with my thoughts ; I longed for 
a moment, a single moment, of silence, calmness and 
solitude ; I desired to look into my heart, to understand 
my emotion more clearly and to offer up a little, 
earnest prayer. 

Meanwhile, through the half-open door, I heard the 
ladies chatting in low tones. I, however, crossed the 
room, cast off the pretty little slippers which my dear 
Louise had worked for me, and retired. 

At last, the ladies arose, and, after having examined 
the room, doubtless for the purpose of seeing that 
nothing was wanting, they approached my couch. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 139 


“Farewell, my darling child,” said my mother, 
bending over me. 

She embraced me, covered her eyes with her hand- 
kerchief, which was now wet through and through, 
and precipitately left the room. 

“ Remember that the oldest friend of the family 

kissed you, this evening,” said Madame de P , 

and she moistened my forehead. 

‘^Good night, darling ! ” said my aunt, and she 
departed with a smile on her countenance. 

I was alone, at last. I listened : the doors closed, I 
heard the rumbling of a departing carriage and the 
flames of the two lamps trembled, as they were 
reflected in the mirror. So profound a silence after 
so great a tumult troubled me to such a degree that I 
shivered from head to foot. I strove to concentrate 
my thoughts upon the ceremony, the banquet and the 
ball. I said to myself, as I clasped my hands : “ How 
was Marie dressed ? She wore a — a — a — ” I uttered 
this little phrase aloud in order to give it more weight 
and to oblige my mind to respond ; but it was impossi- 
ble for me to banish the thought of my husband. 

“ He will soon come ! What is he doing now ? 
Where is he? He is ascending the stairs, perhaps! 
How shall I receive him ? ” 

I loved him, oh ! with all my soul I loved him — I 
may confess it now; but then it was all so vague, so 
vague ! To think of him, I descended into the inner- 
most chambers of my heart, bolted the door and hid 


140 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BA BY. 


myself in the darkest corner. I felt that he was very 
dear to me, dearer than li/e itself! I had so much to 
tell him in confidence, and I was ready to place the 
keys of my heart in his hands. But would I ever 
have the courage to do all that? Heavens! how 
unhappy I was ! From time to time, I seemed to hear 
approaching sounds; I held my breath and listened. 
At last, at a certain moment, the floor gave forth a 
sound like a heavy sigh, a door leading into the passage 
was opened with a thousand precautions, and I dis- 
tinctly heard the creaking of a boot! A boot! I 
was filled with terror ! By an involuntary movement 
I sought concealment. My heart throbbed as if it 
would burst ! 

The creaking of the boot ceased and I heard, very 
near me, on the other side of the slight partition, the 
rolling of an arm-chair over the carpet and then a little, 
dry cough. It was he ! But for the partition I could 
have touched him with my finger. A few moments 
after I distinguished the sound of steps upon the floor, 
but it was so soft that it was almost imperceptible. 
This noise, slight as it was, resounded in my brain 
with an extreme violence. All of a sudden my respi- 
ration and the beating of my heart were arrested: 
there was a gentle tap at the door. I was speech- 
less. The knocking was repeated. In my agitation I 
coughed lightly. It was enough: the door was opened 
and I divined that some one was in the room. 

This some one, who seemed to glide over the carpet, 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 141 


advanced towards me, and, out of the corner of my 
eye, I saw his gigantic shadow projected upon the wall. 
I could hardly suppress my joy on noting that my 
Captain wore neither night-cap nor bandana handker- 
chief ! And yet his shadow on the wall gave such 
prominence to his nose that I could not keep back a 
sigh ! How strange it is that one recollects so distinctly 
all these trifling details ! 

Why was it that my terror vanished at the first word 
that fell from George’s lips ? His voice was so assured, 
so soft, he asked permission so gayly to approach the 
fire and warm his feet, and spoke of the incidents of 
the day with such enjoyment and fervor that I was 
absolutely charmed. I risked a glance. I saw him 
comfortably seated in a large arm-chair before the fire ! 
George was never wittier, more affectionate or more a 
man of the world ; he had not changed in the least. 
Either he must have been a veritable monster of 
dissimulation or I must have seemed a very exalted 
personage in his eyes ! 

“ I am sure you are overcome with fatigue, darling,’’ 
said he. 

This word darling made me tremble but did not 
frighten me at all ; it was the first time he had ever 
called me thus, yet I really could not refuse him the 
privilege of addressing me in this manner. Be it as it 
may, I was reserved and replied in the tone in which 
one says: “No, thank you; I do not drink tea.” I 
answered : 


142 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


“ Oh ! yes ; I am tired I ” 

“ I thought so,” said he, approaching me ; “ your 
poor eyes are nearly closed and you cannot even look 
into my face, my darling little wife. I shall leave 
you,” he continued, “ for you need repose.” And he 
came nearer and nearer to me, which was not at all 
natural. Then, extending his hand, which I knew was 
white and delicate: “Will you not give me a little 
clasp of the hand, my darling ? I also am very weary, 
my pretty little wife.” 

His features wore a considerate expression, but I saw 
clearly that he was no more sleepy than I was. 
******* 
August 7. — Many, many times have I read thee, in 
the last two years, my poor little blue diary; and how 
many marginal notes might I add, if thou wert not 
condemned to feed this autumn’s flames ! How did I 
ever dare to confide all this to thee ? Why did I not 
trust thee with more secrets? No one has ever seen 
thee — at least, no one has ever turned over thy pages ! 
Enter quickly into thy hiding-place and await the 
first fire of autumn ! But, before I leave thee, one 
more kiss from thy Valentine ! 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 143 


CHAPTER V. 

THE BLUE DIARY AGAIN. 

T O think that I was on the point of casting thee 
into the flames, my poor darling ! How foolish I 
was ! To whom could I confide all my secrets, to 
whom tell all those little things at which everybody 
laughs, but which bring tears to my eyes, if I had not 
thee? 

This evening, for example, I dined all alone, as 
George had an invitation to a friend’s in the city. 
Well, shall I confess that, as soon as I found myself 
alone, face to face with a leg of mutton cooked exactly 
to his taste, and beside the great carving-knife which 
usually lies before his plate, I began to cry like a 
child? Shall I confess I drank from his Bohemian 
glass, of which he is so fond, in order to console myself 
a little ? 

But people would laugh in my face if I should tell 
them all this; good Father Cyprien himself, whose 
heart overflows with the dew of tenderness, would 
say: 

“ It is nothing, my dear child, it is nothing ! ” 

I know good Father Cyprien so well! But you, my 
poor little diary, always listen patiently; if a tear 
escape me, you drink it in graciously and always pre- 
serve a trace of it. Therefore, I love you. 


144 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


But now that we are alone together, let us chat a 
little. You will not be angry if I write with a pencil, 
will you, darling? You see, I am very comfortably 
installed in my great arm-chair, and do not wish to soil 
you with ink-blots. The fire crackles cheerfully on the 
hearth, and the street without is silent as the grave. 
Let us forget that George will not return before 
midnight, and talk of the past. 

I cannot think of the first months of this past with- 
out laughing and crying at the same time. 

How foolish we were ! How charming it was I 

They say there is one method of learning to swim 
which is not altogether the worst. It consists in throw- 
ing the future swimmer into the water and praying 
Fate to help him. They say that he never experiences 
any difficulty in floating, after the first lesson. Well, 
I find that we are taught to be man and wife by the 
same method! 

Happily or unhappily — it is a question which — 
marriage is a hurricane. 

Without the least transition, but by a sudden flash, 
everything changes color and is radically transformed; 
the former carefully dressed and well-combed gentle- 
man appears before you in a morning-wrapper and 
slippers. 

But, after all, why complain ? Where would be all 
those pleasant souvenirs if we entered into housekeep- 
ing as we enter into a mill, if we had not trembled a 
little on knocking at the gate ? And, really, souvenirs 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABT. 145 

are so pleasant to the heart that we might often wish 
to clothe the future in the garments of the past. 

I recollect it well : it was the second day after the 
great event. I had entered his room — I have forgotten 
why ; for the sole pleasure of entering, probably, and 
thereby acting as a wife should. What a strong desire 
is that which fills your mind, as you leave church after 
mass, and compels you to endeavor to appear like an 
old married lady ! You muffle yourself in a bonnet 
with long ribbons, you never promenade without the 
eternal cashmere shawl, you always say “at my house” 
— those charming words! — and afterwards you bite 
your lips to prevent yourself from laughing aloud. 
And then “ my husband ” and “ my waiting-maid ” — 
and the first dinner you order without ever thinking of 
the soup ! All that is charming, and as ill at ease as 
you feel in these new garments at first, you have, 
nevertheless, a mania to wear them. 

I had, however, entered my husband’s room. He 
had been standing a quarter of an hour before his glass, 
engaged in the prosaic operation of shaving. 

“Pardon, my dear,” said he, smiling and putting 
more lather on his face. “ With your permission I will 
continue. Do you wish anything ? ” 

“On the contrary,” I replied, “I came to see if you 
had need of anything.” And greatly embarrassed, for 
I was afraid of being indiscreet and was not quite sure 
that one might enter her husband’s apartment thus, 
I added: “Have your shirts all the buttons on?” 


146 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


“ Oh ! what an excellent little housekeeper I have 
married ! Do not trouble yourself about such trifles, 
darling ; I shall request your waiting-maid to take care 
of the buttons.” 

I was confused and afraid of appearing too school- 
girlish before my husband. He continued to lather 
his face with his shaving brush. I wished to go away, 
but was so strangely interested by my husband’s novel 
appearance that I had not the courage to leave the 
room. 

He stopped suddenly. It seemed to me, however, 
that he was afraid of appearing too ludicrous to me 
with his face all white with lather. It would have 
pleased me better had he continued without embarrass- 
ment ; I wished to see how he could possibly shave 
without cutting his moustache, and how he parted and 
brushed his hair with the two round brushes I saw 
upon the table ; I wished to discover what use he made 
of all those little instruments arranged in order upon 
the marble slab of the wash-stand : pincers, scissors, 
tiny combs, little pots and flasks with gilt covers 
and an entire arsenal of those gleaming trifles which 
give one a desire to be careful of one’s personal 
appearance. 

“ Well, my dear, why do you look at me in so strange 
a manner ? ” said he, smiling. 

I stared at the carpet and blushed. Although inter- 
ested, I was ill at ease amid all these novelties. I 
knew not what to reply, and, mechanically, I dipped 
my finger into the little porcelain soap cup. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 147 


“But what is the matter with you, darling?” said 
he, bringing his face close to mine. “ Have I caused 
you any pain ? ” 

I never could account for the strange idea that then 
entered my mind ; I drew my hand rapidly from the 
porcelain cup, and deposited on the exact centre of his 
nose the lather which clung to my finger. He laughed 
outright, and I did the same, though I trembled an 
instant, fearing that I had offended him. 

“ Ah ! is that the way you treat a captain of the 
Lancers? You shall pay for it, terrible, shocking little 
darling that you are ! ” And, brush in hand, he chased 
me about the room. I ran around the table and 
sought refuge behind the arm-chairs, overturning his 
boots in my flight. As I passed near the divan, I saw 
his uniform spread out for use — he was to visit the 
General that morning. I seized the “ czapska,” which 
I employed as a shield. But I was paralyzed by an 
attack of foolish laughter, and, moreover, what could 
a poor, weak little woman do when attacked by a 
captain of the Lancers, even if provided with a 
shield ? 

At last he reached me. The struggle was terrible. 
I shrieked aloud, as I fell back upon his sustaining 
arm, but, nevertheless, the horrible brush, which 
resembled a great snow ball on the end of a little 
stick, came nearer and nearer to me ! 

Thank heaven ! he was merciful and contented him- 
self with depositing a little white dot upon the tip of 
my chin, crying : “ The cavalry is avenged ! ” 

9 


148 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


But I, seizing the brush in my turn, said to him, 
coaxingly: “Captain, please, please let me lather 

your cheek ! ” 

In response he turned his face towards me, and, 
seeing that I was obliged to stand on tip-toe and lean 
rather heavily upon his shoulder, he knelt down before 
me and placed his head at my disposal. 

With the end of my finger I made him move his 
head to the right, to the left, backward and forward, 
and lathered him wildly, laughing the while ever so 
heartily. Oh! it amused me so much to see my 
captain obey me like a child ! I would have given 
almost anything if he had only had his spurs and 
sword on at this moment. Unhappily, he was in his 
slippers ! 

I lathered his forehead, his nose and his cheeks ; he 
closed his eyes and seized me in his arms, saying : 

“ Go ahead, my little wife, go ahead — only don’t put 
any of it in my mouth — that’s all I ask of you ! ” 

But at that moment I experienced a most peculiar 
sensation ; my laughter ceased all at once, and I was 
heartily ashamed of having my husband on his knees 
at my feet and of amusing myself with him as if he 
had been a doll. 

“What a silly child I am ! ” said I to myself; “ and 
how good and kind he is I ” 

I let the brush fall to the floor ; I felt the tears rush 
to my eyes, and, suddenly melting, I bent over him, 
kissing him upon the neck, the only spot free from 
lather. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 149 

His ear was so near my lips that, as I passed it, I 
could not help whispering in it : “ Do not be angry 

with me, my — husband ! ” And, as my emotion and 
repentance increased: “I love you,” I added, “oh! 
how I love you ! ” 

“ My darling ! ” he cried, rising suddenly, and his 
voice trembled. 

What delicious moments were those ! Unhappily — 
oh! yes, unhappily — he could not bring his face to 
mine, covered as it was with lather. 

“Wait an instant ! ” he cried, as he rushed towards 
a basin of water. 

Heavens ! how long that instant seemed ! 


150 MONSIEUR MADAME AND THE BABY. 


CHAPTER VI. 

MY WIFE GOES TO THE BALL. 

M ADAME. Ah ! how good of you to come home 
so early ! (Consulting her watch.) Quarter to 
six. But you are nearly frozen, my poor dear; your 
hands are icy ! Come, sit down by the fire. (She 
throws some wood on the fire.) I have thought of 
you all day long. How wretched to be obliged to go 
out in such weather ! Have you arranged your 
business satisfactorily ? 

Monsieur . Very satisfactorily, my little one. 
(Aside.) I have never before seen my wife so 
amiable. (Aloud, seizing the bellows.) Very 
satisfactorily, and I am as hungry as a wolf ! 

Madame . You are hungry? Oh ! how glad I am 
that you are hungry for once. Bravo ! (Calling.) 
Marie, tell them in the kitchen that Monsieur wishes 
to dine early. Tell them to take great care of — you 
know what, and a lemon. 

Monsieur . More mysteries, eh? 

Madame. Yes, Monsieur ; I have prepared you a 
little surprise, and I flatter myself you will be 
delighted with it. 

Monsieur. Well; we shall see. What is it? 
Madame. Oh I it is a real surprise! How curious 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 151 


you are, and how your eyes sparkle already! Now, 
suppose I should not tell you what it is? 

Monsieur . You would break my heart! 

Madame . Well; I don’t wish to make you impa- 
tient. You shall have, for dinner, this evening, some 
splendid oysters and — and — a — young partridge ! 
There, am I not thoughtful? 

Monsieur . Oysters and a partridge ! You are an 
angel! (He kisses her.) An angel ! (Aside.) What 
is the matter with my wife to-day? (Aloud.) You 
have not received any visits in the course of the 
day, have you? 

Madame . Ernestine called this morning, but she 
only remained a second. 

Monsieur . And you have seen no one except 
Ernestine ? 

Madame . Certainly not. (With an exclamation.) 
Oh ! how thoughtless I am ! I forgot Madame de 
Lyr’s visit ! 

Monsieur . Lord bless her ! Does she still laugh 
on one side of her face only in order to hide her 
discolored tooth ? 

Madame . How wicked you are ! And yet she is 
very fond of you. Poor woman ! I was really touched 
by her visit. She came to remind me that her — but 
you will be angry. (She kisses her husband and draws 
her chair very near to his.) 

Monsieur . Be angry? I be angry? I am no Turk! 
But come, what is it ? 


152 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


Madame . You know we are to have oysters and a 
partridge. Let us go to dinner. No ; I will not tell 
you, for you are already in a very bad humor. 
Moreover, I almost assured her that we would not 
be there. 

Monsieur. (Lifting his hands.) I thought so ! The 
deuce take her and her tea-parties! What on earth 
have I ever done to that woman, tell me ? 

Madame. She thought it would please you. She is 
a charming friend. As to myself, I am very fond of 
her because she speaks well of you. If you could only 
have been hidden in this closet during her visit, I know 
you would have blushed at the praise she showered 
upon you. (Monsieur shrugs his shoulders.) “Your 
husband is so amiable,” said she, “and so gay, so 
witty! Do try and coax him to come; I should be so 
glad to see him.” I replied: “Certainly;” but I 
didn’t mean it, you know. Oh ! I am not at all 
anxious to go: it is not so amusing at Madame 
de Lyr’s. There are always so many serious persons 
there. I know very well that they are influential 
people, and that they might be very useful to us, but 
what does that matter to me ? Come to dinner. You 
know that there is still a bottle of that fine old Pomard 
wine left ; I kept it to wash down your partridge. You 
cannot imagine what pleasure I take in seeing you eat 
a partridge. You always seem to relish it so very 
much — you are quite an epicure, my dear husband. 
(Taking his arm.) Come, now; I hear our little rascal 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 153 


of a cherub in the dining-room and know he is 
impatient. 

Monsieur . (Seriously.) Hum ! And when is it 
to be?” 

Madame. When? What? 

Monsieur . The tea-party, of course ! ” 

Madame . Ah ! the ball, you mean. I had entirely 
forgotten it. Madame de Lyr’s ball? Why do you 
ask me that, since we are not going? But come, 
come ; the dinner is getting cold. It will occur this 
evening. 

Monsieur. (Stopping short.) What ! this tea-party 
is a ball, and this ball will occur this evening ! This is 
a strange way to invite one to a ball ! One is generally 
warned in advance ! 

Madame. She sent us an invitation a week ago. I 
cannot imagine what has become of the card. I forgot 
to show it to you. 

Monsieur. You forgot it ! You forgot it ! 

Madame. Well, after all, it was for the best; you 
would have been angry all the week. Sit down, 
please ! 

They seat themselves. The cloth is of snowy 
whiteness, the knives are brilliantly polished, the 
oysters are fresh and the partridge, cooked in splendid 
style, emits a delicious odor. Madame is charming and 
laughs continually. The wrinkles on Monsieur’s brow 
visibly decrease, as he settles himself cosily in his 
arm-chair. 


154 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


Monsieur . This old Pomard is very fine. Will you 
not take some, my little wife ? 

Madame . Certainly, certainly, your little w T ife will 
take some ! (She pushes her glass towards her husband, 
with a coquettish little movement.) 

Monsieur. Ah ! you have on your Louis XVI. ring, 
to-day. It is a very stylish ring — very ! 

Madame. (Displaying her hand to her husband.) 
Yes, indeed ; but look at it, though — one of the stones 
is loose. 

Monsieur. (Kissing his wife’s hand.) Yes, this 
little stone — just here ! 

Madame. (Smilingly.) You always jest; I speak 
seriously now — look; do you not see it? (They 
approach each other, bending their heads over the ring 
in order te inspect it more thoroughly.) Do you not 
see it? (She points to one of the stones with her 
tapering little finger.) Look — there — there. 

Monsieur. This little pearl that — But what have 
you put on your hair, my dear? The odor is delicious. 
You must give it to the jeweler to — This perfume 
is of an extreme delicacy. Your curls are very 
becoming. 

Madame. Do you think so? (She arranges her 
hair with her shapely white hand.) I thought you 
would like this perfume ; If I were you, I — I — 

Monsieur. What would you do, my darling? What? 

Madame. Why, I should kiss my wife ; there ! 

Monsieur. (Kissing his wife.) Do you know that 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 155 

your ideas are very good ones, eh ? Pass me another 
slice of partridge, please. (With his mouth full.) 
How delicious they are, these poor little things ! How 
cunning they look in the long grass! You have heard 
their little cry when the sun sets, have you not? A 
little sauce, please. There are moments when the 
poetrj' of the fields touches the heart. To think that 
there are cannibals who eat them with cabbage ! Ah ! 
but tell me, (filling his glass,) is your dress ready? 

Madame . What dress, my dear? 

Monsieur . Why, the dress for Madame de Lyr’s 
ball! 

Madame . For the ball ! Why, what a memory 
you have ! Are you still thinking of it? No; I have 
noire ready. Ah! yes; I have my tarlatan dress, you 
know ! 

Monsieur . The hair-dresser has not been notified, 
has he ? 

Madame . No ; he has not been notified ; moreover, 
I am not very anxious to attend this ball. We will 
make ourselves comfortable by the fireside and read a 
little. But you recall to my mind that Madame de Lyr 
remarked, on leaving: “Your hair-dresser is also 
mine ; I will give him notice.” But how foolish I am ! 
I recollect now that I made no reply. It is not far, 
however, and 1 can send Marie to tell him that he need 
not come. 

Monsieur. Ah ! well ; since the hair-dresser has 
been notified, let him come, and we will amuse our- 


156 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


selves awhile at good Madame de Lyr’s — but on one 
condition : that I find my clothes ready for me on the 
bed ; my gloves, too ; and you must tie my white 
cravat ! 

Madame. Agreed ! (She kisses him.) You are 
the best of husbands ! I am charmed, my darling, for 
I see plainly that you are making a sacrifice to give me 
pleasure. The ball itself is entirely indifferent to me ! 
I did not care much to go — really, I did not ! 

Monsieur. Hum ! Well, I shall go smoke a cigar 
in order not to be in your way, and at ten o’clock I 
shall return. You will be ready by that time, and it 
will not take me five minutes to disguise myself in 
black from head to foot. Adieu ! 

Madame. Au revoir ! 

Once in the street, Monsieur lights his cigar and 
buttons his great coat. Two hours to kill ! That is a 
mere trifle when one is occupied, but when one has 
absolutely nothing to do it is vastly different ! The 
pavement is slippery and large drops of rain begin to 
fall ; happily the Palais-Royal is not far distant. Hav- 
ing made the tour of the galleries for the fourteenth 
time, Monsieur consults his watch. Five minutes to 
ten ; the husband will be behindtime ; he accelerates 
his pace and enters his house. 

The horses and carriage are waiting in the court-yard. 

In the bed-room, two shadeless lamps flood the 
apartment with light. On the bed, chairs and sofa 
are mountains of muslin and ribbons. Robes, skirts, 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 157 


underskirts, laces, scarfs, gloves and jewelry com- 
mingle, forming a charming chaos. On one of the 
tables are pots of pomatum, sticks of pomade, hair-pins, 
combs and brushes, all arranged in perfect order. Two 
braids of false hair lie upon a heap of dark objects 
which look not a little like bunches of horse hair. A 
net of gold thread is also visible. Yellow tortoise-shell 
and brilliant coral combs, rose-buds to deck the head, 
bunches of white lilaS and a bouquet of light-colored 
violets await the choice of the artist or the caprice of 
beauty. And yet (must I confess it ?) amid all these 
luxurious riches, Madame is restless, Madame is furious. 

Monsieur . (Looking at his watch.) Well, my dear, 
are you ready ? 

Madame. (Impatiently.) He asks if I am ready! 
Do you not see that I have been awaiting the hair- 
dresser for the last hour and a half? Do you not 
perceive that I am furious because he has not arrived ? 

Monsieur. The monster ! 

Madame. Yes, the monster! Go on jesting, of 
course ! 

A knock is heard. The door is opened and the 
waiting-maid cries : “Madame, it is he! ” 

Madame. It is he! 

Monsieur. It is he ! 

The artist enters precipitately, bows and rolls up his 
sleeves. 

Madame. Silvani, you are intolerable ! 

Silvani. I am very sorry, but it was impossible for 


158 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

me to get here any sooner. I have been dressing 
hair ever since three o’clock this afternoon. I have 

just left the Duchesse de W , who is going to the 

Minister’s this evening. She sent me back in her 
coupd. Lisette, give me Madame's combs and place 
the irons in the fire. 

Madame. But, Silvani, my waiting-maid’s name is 
not Lisette. 

Silvani. Madame will readily^mderstand that, if it 
were necessary for me to recollect the name of every 
waiting-maid who assists me, I should be compelled to 
have six clerks instead of four. Lisette is a pretty 
name and applicable to any waiting-maid. Lisette, 
show me Madame’s toilet. Thanks. Is this an offi- 
cial ball ? 

Madame. Never mind about that, Silvani; only 
dress my hair. 

Silvani. It is impossible for me to dress Madame’s 
hair without knowing for what kind of an occasion. 
(To her husband who is sitting in the corner.) May I 
ask Monsieur to sit elsewhere? I must have room to 
step back and judge of the effect. 

Monsieur . Certainly, Monsieur Silvani; I am only 
too happy to serve you. (He is about to sit down 
upon a chair.) 

Madame. (Precipitately.) Not there, my dear; 
you will rumple my skirt. (Her husband arises and 
seeks another seat.) Look behind you, please ; you 
are walking upon my puffs. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 159 


Monsieur . (Looking back rather crossly.) Her 

puffs ! her puffs ! 

Madame . There, I knew it; you have upset my 
hair-pins ! 

Silvani . May I beg Madame to remain quiet for a 
few moments? 

Monsieur. Come, be calm ; I will go down into the 
parlor ; is there a fire there ? 

Madame. (Vacantly.) How can you expect to find 
a fire in the parlor ? 

Monsieur. Then I shall go into my study. 

Madame. There is none there, either. How can you 
expect to find a fire in your study? Rather high, you 
know, Silvani, and some disorder — that’s all the rage. 

Silvani. Will Madame place a dot of Polish brown 
beneath her eye? That will enable me to idealize 
her head-dress ! 

Monsieur. (Impatiently.) Marie, hand me my over- 
coat and hat, please. I will walk up and down in the 
ante-chamber. (Aside.) Madame de Lj 7 r shall pay 
for this ! 

Silvani. (Crimping.) I shall leave Madame’s ear 
exposed to view; it would be a great pity to cover 
it. Madame’s ear strikingly resembles that of the 

Princesse de K , whose hair I dressed yesterday. 

Lisette, prepare the powder. 

Madame’s hair is dressed at last. Silvani gives a 
slight touch of powder to her face, upon which he casts 
a final glance of admiration ; then he bows and retires. 


160 MONSIEUK; MADAME AND THE BA BY. 


As he passes through the ante-chamber, he comes in 
collision with Monsieur. 

Silvani. Oh ! a thousand pardons ! 

Monsieur . (From beneath the turned-up collar of 
his overcoat.) Good-night. 

A quarter of an hour afterwards, the rumbling of a 
carriage is heard. Madame is ready ; her head-dress is 
very becoming and she smiles in the glass as she forces 
her glove-sticks into the fingers of her long, narrow 
gloves. Monsieur has forgotten to tie his cravat and 
torn off three buttons. Traces of intense ill-humor are 
visible on his countenance. 

Monsieur . Come, come ; the carriage is waiting for 
us; it is a quarter past eleven. (Aside.) Another 
sleepless night ! Give the horses the whip, driver. 
No. 224, Rue de la P^piniere. 

They reach their destination. The Rue de la P6pi- 
niSre is in intense excitement. Sergents de Ville are 
passing rapidly through the crowd. In the distance 
are heard the rumbling of approaching wheels and con- 
fused cries. Monsieur addresses the coachman from 
the carriage window. 

Monsieur . What is the matter, Jean? 

Coachman . A fire, Monsieur. The engines are 
coming. 

Monsieur . Drive on to No. 224. 

Coachman . We are there, Monsieur, but the house 
is on fire ! 

The Concierge qf the House . (Forcing his way 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 161 


through the crowd and approaching the carriage.) 
Monsieur wishes to stop at Madame de Lyr’s, doubt- 
less ? Madame is in despair ; but her house is on fire 
and it is impossible for her to receive company. 

Madame. (Excitedly.) It is an insult ! 

Monsieur. (Humming an air.) Distressing! dis- 
tressing ! (To the driver.) Drive back again as fast 
as you can. 


162 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 


CHAPTER VII. 


A FALSE ALARM 



VERY time I go to Paris, and I am, unfortunately, 


JlJ compelled to go there only too often, it rains in 
torrents. In vain I change the hour of departure, stop 
on the road, travel at night and employ, in fine, a 
thousand cunning artifices to deceive the barometer. 
When I get within ten leagues of Paris, the storm- 
clouds gather and pour their floods upon the devoted 


city. 


On my last visit there, I found myself, as usual, in 
the middle of the street, followed by a porter who car- 
ried my baggage and making desperate signs to every 
cab that passed, in the midst of a most penetrating 
rain. After about ten minutes of this sort of thing, 
a driver, more sensible than the others and- protected 
by the folds of a heavy coat, stopped his horses. With 
a bound, I was at the carriage-door, which I opened in 
no very good humor, and precipitated myself into the 
vehicle. 

Unfortunately, as I was doing this, another gentle- 
man, finding himself in the same position as myself, 
opened the opposite door and precipitated himself into 
the cab, exactly as I had done. It is easy to under- 
stand that the result of this proceeding was a shock, 
followed by a short explanation. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 163 


44 The deuce take you 1 ” cried my rival, preparing to 
enter further into the cab. 

I was on the point of replying to this salutation, and 
rather sharply, too, for I am from the south and have a 
quick temper, when our eyes met. We stared at each 
other a moment, like two lions beside the same sheep, 
and then suddenly burst into loud laughter. This furi- 
ous gentleman was Oscar V , the good, dear Oscar, 

whom I had not seen for the last ten years and whom 
I love infinitely ; a very charming fellow, with whom I 
had played when we were children. 

We embraced, and the driver, who had been watch- 
ing us through the window, shrugged his shoulders and 
comprehended nothing. The two porters stood, one at 
each door, in the penetrating rain, with the luggage on 
their backs. The trunks were deposited on the rack of 
the carriage, and the driver was ordered to take us to 
the Hotel du Louvre, whither Oscar wished me to 
accompany him. 

“But are you also travelling?” asked I of my old 
comrade, after the first moment of effusion. “Are you 
not living in Paris at present ? ” 

“ As little as possible, and, as you see me, I have just 
arrived from Roches, an old tower left me by my father 
in which I reside the greater part of the year. Oh ! it 
is not a chateau. It is rustic, rural, you know; but I 
am very fond of the country and would not have it 
otherwise for the world. The land all around it is 
charmingly green ; not fifty steps from the house, in the 
10 


164 MONSIKUK> MADAME AND THE BABT. 


midst of grand old trees, runs a transparent little 
stream ; in the valley beneath stands an ancient mill ; 
in the distance is a church-tower with a weather-cock; 
flowers are in the windows and happiness is in the 
house. Should I not, then, be contented? My wife 
makes me superb tarts, which are very agreeable to the 
taste and render her little hands whiter. But I have 
never told you that I was married, have I ? My dear 
fellow, the fact is I met an angel and very sensibly con- 
cluded that, if I allowed her to vanish, I should never 
meet another. I acted wisely. But I must introduce 
you to my wife. When will you come to see us? It’s 
only a three hours ride from Paris — just time enough to 
smoke a couple of cigars. Then, it’s understood. I shall 
return home to-morrow morning and will have your 
room prepared. Give me your memorandum book that 
I may write my address in it.” 

All this was said in so cordial a manner that I could 
not resist the entreaties of my friend, and I promised 
to visit him as soon as possible. 

Three or four days later, being rather weary of 
Paris and the remembrance of my old comrade pur- 
suing me, I conceived a great desire to witness his con- 
jugal happiness and see, with my own eyes, the beauties 
of a landscape which pleased him so marvellously well. 

I arrived at Roches about six o’clock in the evening, 
and was charmed bv the first glance. Oscar's dwelling 
was a pretty little chateau, in the style of Louis XV., 
hidden amid a host of gigantic old trees; it was 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 165 


fantastic and irregular in construction, but very charm- 
ing and picturesque. For the last hundred years, every 
trifling detail of the building had been carefully 
respected, and everything,' from the blackish mansards 
to the antiquated weather-cocks, from the arched win- 
dows with their little squares of stained glass to the 
elaborately carved escutcheon over the door, was of 
the same style. The wrinkled and motionless old 
chestnut trees stretched their branches over the thick 
and, in some places, slightly settled tiles of the roof. 
Bitter-sweet and climbing-roses twined at will through 
the interstices in the shutters, enframed the arched 
windows, forced their way through the dormers and, 
clinging to the rain-spouts, let fall from above large 
clusters of blossoms which the wind agitated. Amid the 
pointed roofs, later additions to the original structure, 
and this profusion of verdure and immense trees, it 
was with difficulty that one could catch a glimpse of 
the blue sky in one or two places. 

The first person I saw was my friend Oscar, dressed 
in white from head to foot, wearing a straw hat, and 
sitting on an immense stone, which seemed a part of 
the building itself. He appeared to be very deeply 
interested in examining a fine melon, which his gar- 
dener had just brought him. As soon as he perceived 
me, he sprang up and grasped my hand with such an 
expression of good humor, frankness and affection that 
I said to myself: “Oh! surely he has not deceived 
me ; he is really happy ! ” I found him the same as I 


166 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


had known him in his boyhood : ga} T and somewhat 
foolish, but kind-hearted and affable. 

‘"Pierre,” said he to the gardener, “carry Monsieur’s 
baggage to the chamber on the ground floor.” And, 
as the man proceeded slowly to raise the trunk, Oscar 
seized it with his own hands and placed it upon the 
shoulders of the poor fellow, whose back bent beneath 
the burden. 

“Oldman!” cried Oscar, laughing heartily, “now 
let me present you to the little queen! My wife, 
where is my wife ? ” 

He ran to the bell and rang it twice. A very stout 
cook, with a red face and sleeves rolled back, made her 
appearance immediately at one of the windows on the 
ground floor, and just behind her was another servant 
in the act of wiping a plate. Had these good people 
been chosen expressly? I know not; but their bear- 
ing and aspect completed the picture so harmoniously 
that I could not suppress a smile. 

“Where is Madame?” asked Oscar, and, not receiv- 
ing a sufficiently prompt reply: “Marie!” he cried, 
“ Marie ! here is George ; here is my friend ! ” 

At a little narrow window on the second floor, about 
which the blossoms clustered thickest, appeared a 
young woman as fair as the golden wheat. She wore 
a white wrapper of a very peculiar cut which it is 
impossible for me to describe. With one hand she 
gathered up the flowing folds of this robe and with 
the other held her long, loose hair. No sooner had she 


MONSIEUll, MADAME AXD THE BABY. 167 


perceived me than she blushed to the temples, ashamed, 
doubtless, of being surprised in the midst of her toilet, 

, and, saluting me in the most awkward and adorable 
manner, vanished precipitately. This apparition com- 
pleted the charm ; it seemed to me as if 1 had been 
suddenly transported into the realm of the most 
delightful fantasy. I had expected to find Oscar 
installed in one of those neat little houses with green 
shutters and gilded lightning-rods, of which the rusti- 
cating Parisian is so fond, and I found myself in an 
ideal confusion of good old moss-covered stones hidden 
amid flowers, of antiquated gables and whimsical 
gratings reddened with rust. It was the realization 
of one of those pretty designs by my friend Morin, 
and, astounded and fascinated, I remained for several 
moments with my eyes fixed upon the little embowered 
window at which the beautiful fairy had appeared 
to me. 

“ I call her the little queen,” said Oscar, taking my 
arm; “it is my wife. Come this way and we shall 
meet a cousin of mine, who is fishing, and two other 
persons, who are taking a walk down there — very good 
friends, all of them, only they do not understand rusti- 
cating as I do. They wear red silk stockings and 
dancing-pumps — but that does not concern you, does 
it? Do you want a pair of slippers, my friend? Will 
you have a straw hat? I trust you have brought your 
linen clothes. I shall not offer you a glass of Madeira 
now, because dinner will be ready in an instant. Ah ! 


168 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

old man, you have arrived just in time ; we are going 
to cut the first melon of the year to-night ! ” 

“ Unhappily, I never eat melons, but I like to see 
others enjoy them.” 

“Well, then, I will console you with a bottle of my 
old Pomard. Between ourselves, I do not offer it to 
every visitor ; it is an excellent wine which my father 
recommended to me on his deatli-bed. Poor father ! 
But what I tell you is true,” said Oscar, earnestly: 
“The morning of the day on which he left us, he could 
scarcely whisper — poor father ! His eyes were closed 
and his head had fallen back on the pillows. I was 
sitting beside the bed, my hand in his, when I felt his 
grasp tighten feebly. His eyes partly opened, and I 
saw him smile. He said to me in that weak, slow and 
faltering voice of dying old men : ‘ The Pomard in 

the vault — to the left — you know, iny boy? — for your 
friends — good friends — only ! ’ He pressed my hand 
again, and his eyes closed as if from exhaustion. I 
could see that he still smiled by the slight movement 
of his lips. Come into the cellar with me,” continued 
Oscar, after a brief silence, “ into the vault to the left. 
You must hold the lantern for me.” 

As we made our exit from the cellar, the dinner-bell 
was ringing gayly and frightening clouds of sparrows 
from the old chestnut trees. All the guests met in the 
garden. Oscar presented me in his amiable, careless 
way, and I offered my arm to the mistress of the house 
to enter the dining-room where the steaming soup 
awaited us. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 169 


On closely observing my friend’s wife, I saw that my 
first impression had not deceived me : she was a little 
angel to the very letter, and, what is better, a woman 
too. She was delicate and slender as a young girl ; 
her little, ringing, harmonious voice, like the song of 
the finch, was characterized by I know not what inde- 
scribable accent common to no country, but which 
gave an extreme charm to her every word. She had, 
moreover, her own peculiar manner of expressing her- 
self and a childish way of modulating the end of her 
phrases, turning her eyes the while towards her hus- 
band as if to seek his approbation. She blushed every 
moment, but, at the same time, her smile was so cun- 
ning and her teeth so pearly white that she seemed to 
be making fun of herself and, perhaps, of her neigh- 
bors too. The singular little woman ! Add to this a 
peculiar but very charming st3 r le of dress, somewhat 
original, it is true, but strangely becoming this little 
queen, so strange herself. Her beautiful flaxen hair, 
braided negligently — it looked as if it had been 
braided negligently, at least — was retained in a suffi- 
ciently elevated position by a steel comb, worn very 
coquettishly a little on one side. Her white muslin 
robe, trimmed with large, flat quillings, low and square- 
cut in the neck, and her skirts, short and raised at the 
sides, emitted one of those delicious perfumes common 
to the eighteenth century. This little angel was some- 
what of a coquette, but in her own manner, and her 
manner was exquisite. 


170 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

Hardly were we seated at table, when Oscar cast 
upon his little queen a rapid glance, but one so full 
of happiness and — of love — why not say it? — that I 
experienced a sort of trembling, caused by envy, aston- 
ishment and admiration, perhaps. He plucked a red 
rose-bud from a beautiful bouquet upon the board 
and smilingly offered it to his wife : 

“ For your hair, Madame,” said he. 

The fascinating beauty blushed deeply, accepting the 
flower, and, without ado, quickly, with great address, 
placed it in her hair, rather high on the left side and 
just in the right position ; then, turning gayly towards 
us, she said, with a merry laugh : 

“Is it becoming there?” 

Then, with the tips of her fingers, she threw her 
gallant husband a little kiss, exactly as a girl of 
twelve would have done, and gracefully plunged the 
ladle into the soup, elevating her little-finger in the air. 

There was nothing very remarkable in the appear- 
ance of the other guests; they laughed at all this 
childishness with great benevolence and seemed rather 
out of place in the midst of the adorable abandon. 
The cousin, with almond-shaped eyes, who had been 
fishing and was now dressed very carefully in a suit 
of white, his neck encircled by a blue cravat and his 
beard parted in the middle, particularly displeased 
me. He rolled his r’s and hissed his s’s like a provin- 
cial actor. He broke his bread in very small pieces 
which he munched while he spoke. I saw that a desire 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 171 

to exhibit a large ring which he wore on his finger had 
a great deal to do with this mania for breaking bread. 
Once or twice, I noticed that he cast a melancholy 
glance towards the mistress of the house, but, at first, 
I attached no great importance to this, being very 
much amused by the sparkling gayety of my friend 
Oscar. 

It seemed to me, however, at the expiration of a few 
moments, that the young man was endeavoring by a 
thousand devices to attract the attention of the little 
queen. 

But the latter replied to him in the most natural 
manner possible, evincing neither constraint nor em^ 
barrassment. 

I was wrong, doubtless ! 

Have you ever remarked, after having been ushered 
suddenly into the midst of a company, with whose 
members you are unacquainted, that certain trifling 
details, unobserved by the rest, assume considerable 
importance in jmur eyes? The first impression is 
based upon a host of little nothings, which fall imme- 
diately under your observation. A certain spot upon 
the ceiling, a certain nail in the wall, or a certain 
detail in the physiognomy of your neighbor impresses 
itself forcibly upon your memory, and, in spite of 
yourself, all your other observations group themselves 
about this spot, this nail or this expression and add t© 
its importance. Think over this, dear reader, and you 
will find that each opinion you may have formed in 


172 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


regard to a person or a thing has been sensibly modi- 
fied by the recollection of these little nothings by 
which your attention was, at first, attracted. Where 
is the } T oung girl, who, falling a victim to such first 
impressions, has not refused a husband or two on 
account of an ill-fitting vest, a badly tied cravat, an 
awkward sneeze, a foolish smile or a too pointed boot? 

One will not acknowledge, even to himself, that 
such nonsense may guide him in the formation of 
an opinion, and it is necessary to search one’s mind 
thoroughly in order to discover these forgotten and 
unavowed little germs. 

I recollect perfectly that the first time I had the 

honor of visiting Madame de M , I noticed the 

color of one of her teeth, the first molar to the right : 
it was absolutely blue — an ugly dark blue. I never 
could see anything about Madame de M after- 

wards but this little blue monster, and, although she 
took great care to conceal it, the recollection of the 
discovery never faded from my mind. I soon noticed 

that Madame de M twisted her face horribly in 

order to hide her tooth, and that she took excessively 
small bites when eating that she might deal gently 
with the nervous susceptibility of the little monster. 

With the aid of this tooth, I succeeded in explain- 
ing, to my own satisfaction, at least, all Madame 

de M ’s peculiarities, and she was personified so 

completely in my mind by this slight infirmity that, 
although the blue molar has been replaced by a mag- 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 173 


nificent substitute, twice as large and as white as the 
plate from which she eats, even now, I say, Madame 

de M never opens her mouth in my presence that 

my eyes do not instinctively search for the little 
blue horror I 

But let us return to our subject. 

Gazing upon this beautiful picture of conjugal 
felicity, so charmingly framed, and sitting opposite to 
my dear Oscar, so good, so trusting and so enamored 
of this little cherub in a Louis XV. robe, who car- 
ried grace and simplicity to the point of strangeness, I 
had been shocked by the too well combed hair and 
foolishly pretty face of the cousin in white. This per- 
son’s beard had attracted my attention in the manner 
of the spot on the ceiling of which I have just spoken, 

or, rather, in the manner of Madame de M ’s blue 

molar, and, in spite of myself, I kept my eyes riveted 
upon this fisherman, as he plunged the silver blade of 
his knife into a slice of that indigestible fruit, which I 
am very fond of seeing others enjoy, but which I 
cannot tolerate myself. 

After the dinner, which was of infinite duration, we 
went into the garden, where coffee and cigars were 
served, and where we sat blissfully watching the blue 
smoke issue from our lips. Everything around us was 
silent and calm ; the insects had ceased their music, 
and athwart the clear sky were stretched narrow bands 
of long purple clouds, motionless and seemingly 
plunged in slumber. 


174 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 


With a wave of the hand and a happy smile, Oscar 
pointed out to me the old mill, the quiet valley and, 
further away, his darling streamlet, upon the surface 
of which the last rays of the setting sun were kissing 
the pale water-lilies. During this time, the lively little 
queen was busying herself with the cups and saucers, 
like an infant playing with a toy dinner-set, and, with 
a thousand comical and charming precautions, was 
pouring out the steaming coffee. The delicious odor of 
the mocha mingled with the perfume of the flowers, 
the trees and the new-mown hay. 

When she had finished, she sat down near her hus- 
band, so very near that the folds of her robe half 
concealed him from view, and, taking the cigar from 
between his lips, held it at a distance from her, with a 
little grimace which plainly said: “Oh! horrors!” 
Then, extending her little-finger, she struck the white 
ashes which fell to the ground, at which she laughed 
merrily, at the same time replacing the cigar in her 
husband’s mouth which he held towards her in ex- 
pectation. 

It was charming. Oscar was, doubtless, accustomed 
to such proceedings, for he seemed in nowise aston- 
ished ; he placed his hand upon his wife’s shoulder as 
one does with a child and said, “ Thank you,” as he 
kissed her forehead. 

“ Yes; but you will give me a duck, will you not ? ” 
said the little queen, in a very low tone, as she rested 
her hand upon her husband’s arm. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 175 


I could not suppress a smile on beholding so much 
coaxing artlessness, grace and childishness. I cannot 
imagine why I cast my eye towards the cousin, who, at 
some distance from the rest, was smoking in silence. 
His face seemed to me a trifle pale. One after the 
other, he inhaled three or four whiffs of smoke, then 
arose precipitately, evidently disturbed, and vanished 
among the trees. 

“ What is the matter with my cousin?” said Oscar, 
with a show of interest. “ What has come over him?” 

“ I cannot imagine,” replied his wife, in the most 
natural manner in the world; “he has gone fishing, 
perhaps ! ” 

And the conversation went on. 

It began to grow dark; we had, as I have said, 
remained very long at table. It was about nine 
o’clock. The cousin returned and resumed his former 
position; but from this moment there seemed to enter 
into our relations a sort of strange, mutual constraint, 
manifested by a singular coldness. The conversation, 
so animated at first, grew dull little by little, and, in 
spite of all my efforts, it dragged miserably. As to 
myself, my mind was bj r no means at ease ; I was 
haunted by the most absurd ideas in the world ; I 
beheld in the sudden departure of the cousin, in his 
paleness and his embarrassed movements, the expression 
of a violent feeling which he could not conceal. But 
why did not this adorable little woman, so intelligent 
and with so cunning a glance, understand all this, 


176 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


when it was so plain to me ? Had not Oscar, trustful 
as he was, noticed that the cousin’s departure coin- 
cided, in point of time, exactly with the kiss he had 
impressed upon his wife’s forehead? Were these two 
people blind, were they feigning not to see, or was I 
myself the sport of a miserable illusion? And yet 
the conversation had ceased ; the mistress of the house 
— a very singular symptom — had grown silent and 
grave, and Oscar was restless in his chair, as if tor- 
mented by a thought he was afraid to express in words. 

What was passing in the souls of these persons? 

The clock in the parlor soon struck ten, and Oscar, 
rising suddenly, said : 

“ My dear friends, we enjoy entire liberty in the 
country, you know; I shall, therefore, beg your per- 
mission to retire, as I am rather fatigued this evening. 
George,” he continued, turning towards me, “ you will 
be shown your apartment ; it is on the ground floor ; 
I trust you will have a good night’s rest.” 

All arose in silence and, after having wished each 
other good-night with a constrained air, sought their 
apartments. I thought, I confess it, that they retired 
rather too early at my friend’s. I had not the faintest 
desire to sleep ; I, therefore, examined my room and 
found it charming. It was hung with ancient tapes- 
tries, representing various personages, which were 
surrounded by gray-hued wood-work. The bed, hidden 
behind ample curtains, was half open and emitted that 
refreshing odor of recently washed linen which invites 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 177 


repose. On the table, a small ornament dating from 
the beginning of the reign of Louis XVI., were four or 
five books, evidently chosen by Oscar and placed there 
for me. Such little attentions are never lost upon any 
one, and, very naturally, my mind wandered back to 
my friend, the strange scenes in the dining-room and 
garden, and the chagrin and tortures probably con- 
cealed beneath this appearance of happiness. I was 
absurd that evening; I already pitied my poor friend; 
my heart was touched with sorrow and full of melan- 
choly, and I leaned my elbows upon the sill of the 
open window. 

The night was superb ; the moon had just risen and 
the sky was clearness itself. Whiffs of delicious 
perfume were wafted to me from the flowers in the 
garden. Amid the shadows cast by the trees I saw’ 
glow-worms shining in the grass, and over masses of 
verdure, mysteriously illuminated by the moonlight, I 
beheld strange forms of fantastic monsters and phan- 
toms wandering in the silence. But what interested 
me most was a little pointed roof, surmounted by a 
weather-cock, nestling in the midst of grand old trees. 
In the gloom, I could distinguish neither windows nor 
doors in this strange tower. Was it an old aviary, 
a tomb, or an abandoned kiosk? I knew not, but 
there was about it a grace, an extreme elegance that 
riveted my gaze. Was it chance or the hand of a 
cunning artist that had entwined this little tower with 
climbing plants and flowers, and surrounded it with 


178 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


verdure so coquettishly that it seemed to be hiding in 
order to attract attention? I was in deep contempla- 
tion of all this, when I heard a slight noise among the 
trees. Turning my eyes in the direction of the sound 
— oh ! I could feel my heart throb violently ! — I saw 
a phantom in a long white robe walking rapidly, 
excitedly and mysteriously. At a turn of the path, 
the moon fell on the face of this phantom. It was 
impossible to doubt: my eyes were upon my friend’s 
wife. Her bearing was no longer characterized by that 
coquettish freedom which I had so much admired, and 
on her features traces of trouble and emotion were 
visible. I did my best to banish the horrible suspicion 
which suddenly presented itself to my mind. “ No,” 
said I to myself, “ so much candor and beauty must be 
foreign to deception ; no doubt, she has forgotten her 
fan or her embroidery on one of the chairs in the 
garden.” But, instead of directing her steps towards 
the chairs which were at her right, the young woman 
turned to the left and disappeared in the shadow of the 
grove in which was hidden the mysterious kiosk. 

My heart was filled with sadness. “ Where is the 
unhappy woman going?” I muttered. “Let her, at 
least, have no suspicion that she is observed ! ” And I 
extinguished the lamp precipitately. I wished to close 
my window, retire and see no more, but irresistible 
curiosity nailed me to the spot. I had stood there but 
a few moments when I plainly distinguished the sound 
of footsteps upon the gravel. They were irregular and 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 179 

timid footsteps* I could see no one, at first, but I 
doubted not that they were the footsteps of a man. I 
soon knew that I was not deceived, for the elongated 
shadow of the cousin, clearly and distinctly defined, 
fell upon the coppice. I wished to arrest his progress, 
for his intention was evident: he was going towards 
the grove in which the little queen had disappeared. 
I wished to cry out to him : “ Scoundrel, not one step 
further, or — ” But had I the right to act thus? I 
remained silent, but coughed loudly enough to be 
heard by him. 

He stopped suddenly and looked in every direction 
with visible anxiety ; then, seized by I know not what 
frenzy, he darted towards the pavilion. I was stupe- 
fied ! What was to be done? Should I warn my 
friend, my comrade of boyhood? Yes; but I hesitated 
to cast despair into the heart of that excellent man and 
proclaim this horrible scandal ! “ He might be kept in 

ignorance of it,” said I to myself; “and, perhaps, I 
am mistaken ; who knows ? This rendezvous is due, 
doubtless, to the most natural motive in the world.” 
I was trying to nurse this illusion, to close my eyes to 
the evidence before them, when, suddenly, one of the 
doors was opened with a crash, and Oscar, Oscar him- 
self, in all the disorder of his night garments, his hair 
streaming and his wrapper floating in the breeze, passed 
my window. He ran rather than walked, but the 
agony of his heart was only too clearly depicted upon 
his features and in the strangeness of his movements. 

11 


180 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


He knew all ! I felt that a catastrophe was inevitable ! 
“ This, then, is the happiness, this the poison enclosed 
in this beautiful vase ! ” All these thoughts rushed 
through my mind with lightning rapidit} r . But, above 
all, it was imperative to retard the explosion, if only 
for a second, and, beside myself, without taking time 
to think what I should say to him, I cried, in a 
commanding tone : 

“ Oscar, my friend, come speak with me ; I wish it.” 

He stood for a moment as if petrified. He was 
horribly pale. 

“ I have no time now ; later,” said he. 

“ Oscar, I implore you ; you are mistaken, doubt- 
less ! ” 

“I am mistaken, man, mistaken?” 

And he rushed towards the pavilion. 

But, seizing the skirt of his wrapper, I held him 
with an iron grasp : 

“ Do not go there, my friend ; I implore you upon 
my knees ! ” 

The only response I received was a terrible blow on 
the arm, and he cried : 

“ You must be out of your senses ! ” 

“ I say you shall not go there, Oscar ! ” cried I in a 
determined tone of voice. 

“ And I say that go there I will ! ” fairly shouted 
my friend. 

With these words he tore his wrapper from my grasp 
and vanished, leaving me a prey to fearful anxiety. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 181 


I waited for some moments, expecting to hear the 
noise of a deadly struggle ; but the silence of the night 
remained undisturbed, and at last I retired to my 
couch in a state of utter perplexity and bewilderment. 

It was not until the afternoon of the next day that 
the mystery w'as explained. Then, Oscar laughingly 
informed me that all who had partaken of the melon 
had been seized with the colic in the night, and, one by 
one, not wishing to disturb the others, had gone to the 
pavilion, which was used as a coach-house, in order to 
obtain relief by dosing themselves with some old 
brandy which was temporarily stored there. 


182 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

I SUP WITH MY WIFE. 

I T was Christmas-eve. The cold was intense and 
the snow fell in huge flakes, which, driven by the 
wind, dashed against the window-panes. The chiming 
of distant bells reached us in confused and feeble tink- 
lings, through the heav} r , downy atmosphere. The 
passers-by, wrapped in their great coats and bending 
their heads beneath the beating storm, strode along 
with rapid steps. 

Comfortably enveloped in my wrapper, I drummed 
on the window-pane and smiled upon the chilled pedes- 
trians, the wind and the snow, with the happy air of a 
man who is established in a warm apartment and whose 
feet are encased in soft slippers which sink in a 
thick carpet. 

Beside the fire sat my wife, busily engaged in cutting 
and clipping cloth, and smiling on me from time to 
time; a new book was awaiting me on the mantel-piece, 
and on the hearth the burning logs hissed and shot forth 
bright little blue flames. 

“There is nothing more stupid than a man who 
will plod through such a storm, is there ? ” said I to 
my wife. 

“ Hush ! ” said she, putting down the scissors. Then, 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 183 


stroking her chin with her tapering, rosy and plump 
little fingers, she began to examine the pieces of cloth 
upon which she was at work. 

“ I say that there is nothing more absurd than to 
plod through such a storm, when it is so easy to remain 
at home, beside the fire ! ” 

“ Hush ! ” 

“ What, in the name of goodness, are you doing 
which is of so much importance?” 

“I — I am making a pair of braces for you.” 

She bent anew over her work, and I stepped behind 
her and kissed her on the cheek. 

“ Monsieur ! ” cried Louise, suddenly turning 
towards me. 

“ Madame ! ” replied I, and both of us laughed 
heartily. 

“ It is Christmas-eve, you know.” 

“ Does Monsieur ask pardon ? ” 

“ Does Madame complain ? ” 

“Yes; Madame complains that Christmas-eve pro- 
duces no greater effect upon Monsieur. The chimes 
of Notre-Dame are indifferent to you, and, a few 
moments ago, as the magic lantern passed under the 
window, I saw you pretend to be occupied — you were 
unconcerned.” 

“ I was unconcerned when the magic lantern passed ! 
Ah ! my dear, you judge me very severely ! ” 

“ Oh ! yes, joke on ! But it is, nevertheless, true 
that the souvenirs of your childhood are effaced from 
your memory ! ” 


184 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

“What, my darling, do you wish me to hang my 
stocking by the chimney before I retire, to-night? Do 
you wish me to call in the man with the lantern and 
hunt him up a sheet and a candle-end, as my poor 
mother used to do ? I can still see her as she confided 
her fine linen to his care. ‘ Please do not tear it, at 
least,’ she used to say. How we clapped our little 
hands in the mysterious obscurity ! Oh ! I recollect all 
those joys of my childhood, darling, but j^ou should 
understand that hosts of others have arisen since then ! 
Greater pleasures have effaced those of infancy ! ” 
“Yes, I understand: the pleasures of your youth; 
and I am sure that this is the first Christmas-eve you 
have ever passed by your fireside, in your wrapper, 
without having feasted — for, you know, you did feast! ” 
“ I feasted ? — I feasted ? ” 

“ Yes ; I will wager that you used to feast ! ” 

“ I may have feasted two or three times, perhaps — I 
cannot now recollect — with a few friends, you know — 
on two sous’ worth of chestnuts, and — ” 

“ A glass of eau sucrde ! ” 

“ Oh ! well ; something of the kind. It was all quite 
simple and had a very good effect upon the others ! ” 

“ And you can say that with a straight face ! You 
have never mentioned any of those simple pleasures 
to me ! ” 

“ But, my dear, what I say is true to the letter. I 
recollect, however, that on one occasion the feast was 
rather lively. We were at Ernest’s, who favored us 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 185 


with music. Will you push that wood over here? No; 
you need not trouble yourself; it is nearly midnight 
and time for all reasonable people to retire.” 

(Louise, rising and putting her arms about my neck.) 
“But I don’t want to be reasonable; I want to efface 
from your memory all those recollections of chestnuts 
and eau sucr^e ! ” 

Then, forcing me into my study, she locked the door. 

“ My dear, what is the matter with you, this even- 
ing ? ” I cried through the key-hole. 

“ I only ask ten minutes — not a second longer. Your 
newspaper is on the table ; you did not read it to-night. 
You will find a few matches on the mantel-piece.” 

I soon heard the rattle of plates and the rustling 
of silk. Was my wife out of her senses? 

Louise speedily opened the door. 

“ Do not scold me for having locked you in,” said 
she, embracing me. “See how pretty I have made 
myself. Do you not recognize the head-dress of which 
you are so fond? But one must appear in full uniform 
when one sups with a superior officer ! ” 

“ Sup ? What do you mean ? ” 

“ Exactly what I say: I intend to sup with you ; do 
you not see my illumination and this table covered with 
a host of delicacies and flowers? I had prepared all 
this in the alcove ; but, you understand, in order to 
roll the table beside the fire and make my toilet, I 
wished to be alone for a few moments. Here is some 
fine old Chambertin. Come, Monsieur, be seated. I 


186 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


am as hungry as a wolf. May I offer you some cold 
chicken ? ” 

“Your idea is an adorable one, my little darling; 
but really I am ashamed — I am in my wrapper ! ” 

“ Take it off, if it bothers you, Monsieur, but do not 
force me to hold out this chicken wing to you all night. 
I wish to wait on you myself.” And, rising, she placed 
her napkin under her arm and rolled up her sleeves 
to the elbow. 

“That is what the waiters at the restaurant do, 
is it not? ” 

“Exactly; but, waiter, permit me to kiss your 
hand!” 

“ I have not time,” said she, laughing and forcing 
the corkscrew into the neck of the bottle. “ Chamber- 
tin ! — that’s a very pretty name ; and, then, you 
recollect that before our marriage — gracious ! how this 
cork sticks — you told me you loved good old Cham- 
bertin because it reminded you of one of Alfred de 
Musset’s poems — which, by the way, you have never 
given me to read. Do you see those two little Bohe- 
mian glasses? I purchased them expressly for this 
evening. Come, we will drink each other’s health 
from them, and then hide them until this time next 
year ! They shall be our Christmas-eve glasses ! 
Every year, we will banquet thus before the fire until 
extreme old age comes on.” 

“ But how shall we manage when we have lost all 
our teeth? ” 


monsieur, Madame and the baby. 187 

“We will sup on broth, and it will be none the less 
charming ! I will take another piece of chicken, if you 
please — a little jelly with it. Thank you.” 

As she held her plate towards me, I saw her beautiful 
arm, covered with lace. 

“Why do you stare at my sleeves, instead of 
devouring your chicken ? ” 

“ I was admiring your arm, my dear. Do you know 
that you are delightful, this evening, eh? Your head- 
dress is so becoming, and I have never seen this dress 
before ! ” 

“When one marches to conquest, one must be 
properly equipped ! ” 

“ You are superb, darling ! ” 

“But do you really consider me — charming, this 
evening? Well, then, if you do — (casting down her 
eyes and smiling upon her bracelet) if you do — I cannot 
see why — ” 

“What can’t you see, my little one?” 

“ I cannot see why you do not come and — kiss me 
just a little bit ! ” 

And, as I kissed her, she cried, in the midst of her 
laughter, throwing back her head and exposing a 
double row of pearly teeth: “I want some pat4 ! 
some pat6 ! Oh ! you will break my Bohemian glass, 
the fruit of my economy! You always hurt me, when 
you kiss me ! Do you recollect how you tore my 
dress at Madame de Brill's ball, a few days before 
our marriage, as we waltzed in the little parlor ? 


188 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

“ The result of trying to do two things at once : to 
dance in time and kiss your partner ! ” 

“ I recollect that when mamma asked me who tore 
my dress, I blushed to the temples. And Madame 

D , that yellow old witch, cried, with her peculiar 

lenten smile: ‘What a very high color you have, this 
evening, my dear child ! ’ I could have strangled her ! 
I said I had torn my dress on a nail in the door ! And 
I took a sly glance at you ; you pulled your moustache 
and looked terribly vexed. You are eating all the 
truffles, which is very kind in you ! ” 

“I am distressed, my dear; I forgot you liked 
them ! ” 

“ You are as forgetful as at the Town Hall, where I 
was forced to nudge you in order to make you answer 
‘yes’ to the benevolent words of the magistrate.” 

“ Benevolent? ” 

“Yes, benevolent! The magistrate was charming. 
He could not have been more graceful than when he 
said: ‘Mademoiselle, do you consent to accept as 
your husband this wretched man at your side ? ’ (Her 
mouth full, and laughing.) Oh ! I so wished to reply : 
‘ Let it be understood, Monsieur the Mayor, that there 
are a few pro’s and con’s to be taken into considera- 
tion ! ’ But I am strangling ! (She laughs heartily.) 
I did wrong in not making restrictions. Your health, 
my dear husband ; I was only joking. I said ‘ yes ’ 
with all my heart and soul, I assure you, dearest, and 
I felt that the word was altogether too weak ! (In a 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 189 

low voice.) But, tell me truly, do you regret having 
married me ? ” 

(Laughing.) “ Certainly ! ” (Kissing her.) 
“Dearest, it is two o’clock in the morning! The 
fire is out, and I am a little — }T)u will not laugh? 
Well, then, I am a little — giddy! ” 

“Splendid pat£, wasn’t it?” 

“Splendid! We will take a little cup of tea for 
breakfast to-morrow, will we not ? ” 


190 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


CHAPTER IX. 

FROM ONE THING TO ANOTHER. 
UTUMN in the country. The wind howls 



\J_Jl without. Madame is seated in a large arm- 
chair by the fireside, knitting.^ Monsieur is seated 
opposite Madame, contemplating the fire. A long 
silence.) 

Monsieur . Will you hand me the tongs, my 
dear ? 

Madame. (Singing.) “ And yet in spite of all my 
fears — ” (Spoken.) Here are the tongs. (Singing.) 
“ In spite of painful — ” 

Monsieur. That’s one of M^hul’s songs, is it not? 
Ah ! what music he wrote ! I saw Delaunay-Riquier 
in “ Joseph.” (Singing, as he stirs the fire.) “ Holy 
anguish — ” (Spoken.) Why don’t the fire blaze? 
Ah ! the wood is green ! Riquier had a charming 
voice, but he was a little too stout. 

Madame. (After having held her work at a distance 
to judge of the effect.) Tell me, George, would you 
make this little square red or black? You see, this 
one near the corner. Tell me frankly. 

Monsieur (Singing.) u If repentance should — ” 
(Speaking, without looking at his wife’s work.) Red, 
my dear, red ; I would not hesitate a moment — I hate 


black ! 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 191 


Madame. Yes; but that would drive me to — ” 
(She reflects.) 

Monsieur . Well, if it would drive you, my dear, • 
you must take a firm hold on something and stick ! 

Madame. Come, George, I speak seriously; you 
know very well that if this little square is red the 
other cannot remain violet; and then the rose leaves 
would look pale and the background lack color. But 
I would not change the violet for anything in the 
world ! 

Monsieur. (Slowly and gravely.) My dear, will you 
follow blindly the advice of the irreproachable man to 
whose existence you have attached your fate ? If so, 
make it apple-green, and say no more about it. Did 
you ever see such a fire as this ! 

Madame. I should be only too glad to use my apple- 
green worsted ; I have a whole mountain of it. 

Monsieur. Where, then, is the difficulty? 

Madame. The difficulty is that apple-green is not — 
sufficiently religious ! 

Monsieur. Hum! (Singing). “Holy anguish — ” 
(Spoken.) Will you hand me the bellows, please? 
Would it be impertinent for me to ask you why this 
poor apple-green, which seems to be indicative of 
absolutely nothing, should enjoy such a wretched 
reputation ? Are you knitting something religious ? 

Madame. Oh! George, I beseech you, spare me 
your jests ; I know them of old, and they are horribly 
disagreeable to me. I am simply making a little rug 


192 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


for the confessional of our Cure. There — are you 
satisfied ? And, now that you know all about it, you 
should understand that apple-green would be out 
of place. 

Monsieur. Not the least in the world ; I pledge you 
my word of honor that I would not hesitate to confess 
with my feet resting upon an apple-green rug — but 
then I am naturally resolute, it is true. Use your 
worsted ; I assure you that the good Cur6 will accept 
any color. He was never known to refuse a gift ! 
(He whistles energetically.) 

Madame . You are satisfied now, I suppose? 

Monsieur . Satisfied, my dear? 

Madame . Yes, satisfied; since you have vented 
your sarcasm and ridiculed one who is absent. You 
are a dangerous man, for you seek to shake the faith of 
all around you. I must, indeed, be possessed of an 
ardent belief and very firm principles to have resisted, 
thus far, your incessant attacks ! Why do you stare 
at me in that manner? 

Monsieur . I am endeavoring to become a convert, 
my little apostle ! You are so charming when you 
speak in that wa} r ; your eyes sparkle, your voice 
vibrates and your gestures are capital. Could you 
talk very long thus ? Say yes ! (He kisses her hand, 
then grasps two of her long curls and ties them 
together under her chin.) You are superb, darling! 

Madame. Oh ! you think you have imposed silence 
upon me by interrupting me! There — you have 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 193 


tangled my hair again. Heavens ! how aggravating 
you are ! It will take me an hour to get those curls 
untangled. You are not satisfied with being a prodigy 
of impiety; you must also tangle my hair! Here, 
stretch out your hands and hold this skein of worsted ! 

Monsieur . (Drawing a stool as near as possible to 
Madame, sitting upon it and holding out his hands.) 
Go ahead, my little St. John ! 

Madame. Not so' near, George, not so near. (She 
laughs in spite of herself.) What a foolish fellow you 
are ! Do behave yourself! Oh! you are breaking my 
worsted ! 

Monsieur . Your religious worsted ? 

Madame. Yes, my religious worsted! (She gives 
him a little slap on the cheek.) Say, George, why do 
you part your hair so much on one side? Part it in 
the middle ; it would be so much more becoming. 
Yes, you may kiss me, but gently and without 
violence ! 

Monsieur. Can you divine my thoughts ? 

Madame. How on earth could I ? 

Monsieur. Well, I was thinking of the barometer 
which is falling, and of the thermometer which is 
falling also. 

Madame. And, so you see, cold weather is approach- 
ing fast and my poor rug will never be finished. Come, 
let us be industrious. 

Monsieur. I was thinking of the falling thermom- 
eter and of my room which faces the north. 


194 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


Madame. But did you not choose it yourself? 
Oh! my worsted, my worsted! Goodness! what a 
terrible man ! 

Monsieur . In summer, my room is very cool and 
pleasant, doubtless; but in autumn, when the wind is 
penetrating and the rain dashes against the windows, 
when the fields and meadows seem hidden beneath a 
veil of sadness, when the storm-torn branches from the 
forest bestrew the plain, when the grove has lost its 
mystery and the nightingale is voiceless, oh ! then, 
Madame, the room facing the north seems very much 
to the north and — 

Madame. (Continuing to separate her worsted.) 
What does all this rubbish mean? 

Monsieur. It is a simple protest against the blasts ; 
nothing more. God’s beautiful sun is hidden ; I seek 
another. Is it not natural, my little flaxen-haired, 
saint, my little mystic lamb, my little blessed palm- 
branch? And in you alone, darling, do I find this 
new sun — in your bright eyes, in the fragrance of your 
flaxen curls and in the rustling of your silken skirts ! 

Madame. But will you hush, George ! To-day is 
Friday and we are in the ember-days ! 

Monsieur. What of that when you have your 
dispensation, eh? (Kissing her.) 

Madame. Oh ! please be silent, George ! (With- 
drawing her hand from his, reclining in the arm-chair 
and avoiding his gaze.) 

Monsieur. Your little heart is beating violently, 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 195 

darling ; it knows that autumn is the time for friendly 
chats, for evening family reunions at the fireside. 
Come, come ; look me in the face, Louise. 

Madame . (Leaning suddenly towards her husband — 
the ball of worsted rolling into the chimney, the pious 
work falling to the floor — and seizing his head with 
both her hands.) Ah ! you would be an adorable 
husband, if you were — 

Monsieur . If I were what? 

Madame . If you were only a little religious ! I 
would not demand much in the beginning. Come; 
it is not difficult. But, as it is, you are really too — ” 

Monsieur . Apple-green ! 

Madame. Yes, apple-green, you dear husband ! 
(Laughs heartily.) 

Monsieur . (Lifting his hands triumphantly.) Sound 
the bugle ! Madame has laughed and the enemy is 
disarmed. (The clock strikes twelve.) 

Madame. (Suddenly changing the expression of her 
features on hearing the strokes of the clock.) Did 
you think I did not love you, dearest, tell me ? Oh ! 
yes ! yes ! I love you ! Stupid fellow ! but did you 
not see the clock? 

Monsieur. Why, no. 

Madame. Well, it is after midnight — look ! (She 
blushes deeply.) Friday is yesterday ! 

Monsieur. Are you sure the clock is not fast, 
darling ? 

12 


196 MONSIEUR; MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 


CHAPTER X. 

A BIT OF CONVERSATION. 

Ilf” ADAME A. As to myself, you know, my dear, I 
ill fulfil my duties as is becoming ; but, then, I am 
not what is generally called devout — Oh! not at all. 
Hand me the scissors, please. Thank you. 

Madame B. Not at all, darling. How tedious these 
little guipure squares must be to make. As regards 
devotion, I am altogether of your opinion ; first, I think 
nothing should be exaggerated. What is your idea? 
Indeed, I have never spoken with any one in relation 
to this subject ; but our thoughts agree so thoroughly 
that — 

Madame A. Come, come, my dear ; you love me a 
little, I hope ? 

Madame B. Well then, frankly, have you ever 
entertained doubts ? 

Madame A. (After an instant’s reflection.) Doubts? 
Never; and you? 

Madame B. Yes, I have had a few, and oh! how I 
have suffered and wept ! 

Madame A. I believe you, my poor darling ! My 
faith is very firm. Those doubts must have rendered 
you exceedingly unhappy. 

Madame B. Horribly so. It seems as though you 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 197 

had lost everything, you know ; there is an absolute 
void. Of course, I have never spoken to my husband 
of these doubts — certainly not ! L6on is a pearl among 
men ; but he will not hear that subject discussed. The 
day after our wedding — I can still see him ! — I was just 
about to arrange my hair ; those large head-bands were 
worn then, you know ! 

Madame A. Yes, yes; they were charming, too; 
they will be in fashion again, mark my word. 

Madame B. I should not be at all surprised ; fashion 
is a wheel that turns continually. But Leon said, the 
day after our wedding: “My dear child, I shall not 
endeavor to prevent you from going to church ; but, 
in the name of goodness, never say a word to me 
about it ! ” 

Madame A. Did Monsieur B really say that? 

Madame B. Upon my word, he did. Oh ! my 
husband is, in every respect, the most — or, if you prefer 
it, the least — 

Madame A. Yes, yes, I understand. It is a great 
pity, too. Mine is only indifferent. He expresses, 
from time to time, very atrocious sentiments, to be 
sure; but, then, I know he could easily be brought 
back into the right path. Wait until he is sick and 
you will see ! If he has but a slight catarrh, I can 
perceive a change for the better. Do you see my 
thimble anywhere ? 

Madame B . Here it is. Do not be too confident, 
my dear ; men are not to be brought back like chickens 


198 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


by crying pst! pst! Certainly, I infinitely admire those 
men who attend to their religious duties ; you know 
me too well to doubt that. But, as I have already said, 
I think that nothing should be exaggerated. Now, 
would 3^ou, my darling, like to see your husband march 
before the banner, holding a large candle in his right 
hand — and — a bouquet in his left ? 

Madame A . No, indeed ! Ah ! ah ! ah ! What a 
foolish creature you are ! You might as well ask me if 
I should like to see L6on in a black silk skull-cap, with 
cotton in his ears and a holy-water brush in his hand ! 
It is not at all necessary, in order to be pious, for a man 
to promenade the church, singing, with his nose in a 
book; there is a more refined religion: that of — of — 
well-bred persons. 

Madame B. Ah ! when you speak thus, I perfectly 
agree with you ; I consider that there is nothing more 
beautiful than a man in his religious enthusiasm : the 
arms folded, no book, the head slightty bowed, grave 
mien, his coat buttoned. Have you ever seen Monsieur 
de P at worship ? Heavens ! how handsome he is ! 

Madame A. He is, indeed, a fine looking man ! 
Besides, his dress is so neat ! Have you ever seen him 
on horseback ? Ah ! but you have doubts ; tell me 
upon what, since we speak in confidence. 

Madame B. I hardly know how to tell you. I have 
doubts in regard to — to — the infernal regions, for 
example. Oh ! horrible doubts ! But let us not speak 
of that ; I am sure it is impious ! 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BAB V. 199 

Madame A. I give the subject a very wide berth. 
I never think of it. Moreover, my confessor has 
assisted me greatly in this respect. “ Do not seek,” 
says he, always, “to comprehend the incomprehensible.” 
Do you know Father Gedeon? A pearl of a confes- 
sor ! I am very well satisfied with him. He is never 
tedious, but always discreet and so well-bred ! He 
became a monk on account of — of — a little penitent 
who fell desperately in love with him. 

Madame B. Is it possible ! 

Madame A. A fact. What ! you have never heard 
of it? The great success of his parish is due to that 
little adventure. Before the arrival of Father Gdd£on, 
it simply vegetated ; but the ladies soon came in crowds 
and organized a little society called “The Ladies of 
Anguish.” They prayed for those Chinese who died 
without confessing, and wore cuff-buttons in the shape 
of death’s heads. This has, since, become very fashiona- 
ble, as you know. The good fathers organized, in their 
turn, an intelligence office for valets de chambre, and, 
through one thing and another, the parish has grown 
very popular and rich. I have even heard that they 
intend to displace one of the most important railway 
depots of Paris in order to enlarge their garden, which 
is now rather small. 

Madame B. As to that, it is perfectly natural that 
the good fathers, who never go into the world, should 
have room to promenade in their own domains. But 
what I cannot understand is how a woman, be she ever 


200 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TliE BABY*. 


so pious, could fall in love with a priest ! One may, 
indeed, assume that it is no longer piety, but fanati- 
cism. I venerate priests, of course ; but, then, I cannot 
imagine how — You will laugh at me, ah ! ah ! ah ! 

Madame A. Not at all. Ah ! ah ! ah I What a 
child you are. 

Madame B. (Applying herself very industriously to 
her work.) Well, then, I cannot imagine how they 
can be men like the others. 

Madame A. (Applying herself to her work with 
equal assiduity.) And yet, my dear, I have been 
assured that they are. 

Madame B. But there are so many false rumors! 
(Long silence.) 

Madame A. (More discreetly.) There are priests 
with beards — the Capuchins, for example. 

Madame B. I do not think that proves anything. 

Madame A. It is something, however. How is it 
that the strongest, most courageous and most mas- 
culine men — the soldiers, in fine — invariably have the 
strongest beards ? 

Madame B. That is a very childish idea, indeed, 
for then the sappers would be more courageous than 
the generals, and, at all events, I am sure there is not 
in France a general who has a stronger beard than a 
Capuchin. But have you never looked at a Capuchin ? 

Madame A. Yes ; I had a very near view of one. 
It is really quite a curious story: the brother of 
Clementine’s cook is a Capuchin — he was formerly 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 201 


a jeweller and a very respectable man. On account of 
losses in business — it was in ’48 and trade was in a 
very bad condition — this poor man lost his mind and — 
no, he did not lose his mind, for he threw himself into 
the church. 

Madame B . Oh ! but such a thing was never heard 
of! What! Clementine — ? 

Madame A. Like yourself, I would not believe it, 
at first ; but, one day, Clementine said to me : “ Since 
you will not believe in the Capuchin, call on me 
to-morrow afternoon at about three o’clock when he 
intends to visit his sister. We will take luncheon 
together.” Very well; I arrived at Clementine’s the 
next day with Louise, who insisted upon accompany- 
ing me, and found five or six ladies comfortably 
installed in the parlor and laughing in the most 
uproarious manner. They had all come to see the 
Capuchin. “Is he here?” cried I, on entering, and 
all the ladies whispered : “ Hush ! hush ! ” with 

expressive gestures. He was in the kitchen. 

Madame B. And how did you like him ? 

Madame A. Oh ! very well — except the feet ; you 
know their feet are always rather chilling! But, then, 
he was very amiable. We invited him into the parlor; 
he would not take a thing but a little biscuit and a glass 
of water — how that spoiled our appetite ! He was 
quite gay, and told us we were coquettes with our 
little hats, ample robes, etc., etc. He was exceedingly 
droll, with a good bit of the jeweller about him still, 


202 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

but excessively good-natured and entertaining. He 
imitated the buzzing of flies in a marvellous manner. 
He also wished to show us a trick, but it required 
two corks and his sister could, unfortunately, find 
but one. 

Madame B. I should not like to see a monk in my 
kitchen beside the pot of soup ! 

Madame A. What a child you are ! 

Madame B. But, do you know, my husband has 
succeeded in giving rise to many doubts in my mind — 
and succeeded, I must say, in justice to him, without 
being aware of it — in respect to many religious observ- 
ances, such as fasting, vespers, sermons and confession ! 

Madame A. Confession ! Oh ! my darling, I never 
would have believed that ! 

Madame B. I tell you this in confidence, dearest. 
You will never mention it, will you? Pledge me your 
word ! 

Madame A. Confession ! Yes, yes, I give you my 
word, darling. Come, let me embrace you ! 

Madame B. You pity me, do you not? 

Madame A . I cannot pity you too much, for — for — 
I am in the same position ! 

Madame B. You, too ? Great heavens ! how I 
love you! But what can we do? Is it not necessary 
to introduce some conciliation into the household — to 
form our beliefs in accordance with those of our 
husbands ? 

Madame A. Most assuredly. For example, how 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 203 

on earth can I attend high mass, which takes place, in 
our parish, at precisely eleven o’clock? It is my 
breakfast hour. Could I allow my poor, dear husband 
to breakfast alone ? He would never seek to prevent 
me from going to high mass — he has told me so a hun- 
dred times ; but, then, he has always added : “When 
you wish to attend service during the breakfast hour, 
I only ask one kindness of you : that you inform me in 
time in order that I may invite a few friends to keep 
me company.” 

Madame B. Our husbands could not resemble each 
other more closely if they were brothers ! 

Madame A. How we have chatted ! Why, it is 
half-past five o’clock, and time I should be going. 

Madame B. Wait a moment; I have lost my 
thimble again. 


204 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY". 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE FOOT-WARMER. 

A T midnight, when the fire is dead on the hearth, 
the lamp burns low and the weary eyes involun- 
tarily close, the most prudent course to pursue, dear 
Madame, is to retire. 

Quit your arm-chair, remove your bracelets, light 
your rose-colored candle, and, slowly, to the murmur 
of your skirt that trembles as it sweeps the carpet, 
direct your steps towards your dressing-room. 

Before the mirror that tells so well the story of what 
it sees, you pause a moment with seeming indifference, 
and cast upon your own reflection a lingering, happy 
smile ; then, removing with your tapering fingers the 
hair-pins from your luxuriant locks, your wavy tosses 
fall in floods upon your shoulders. Curving your little 
finger with a coquettish movement, you reunite these 
refractory floods and plunge into this golden forest 
your tortoise-shell comb the delicate teeth of which 
bend beneath the effort. 

Your tresses are so abundant that your little hand 
can hardly clasp them ; they are so long that your arm, 
stretched to its utmost extent, can scarcely reach their 
extremity, and it is not without difficulty that you suc- 
ceed in twisting them into glittering braids and in 
forcing them under your tiny silken cap. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 205 


This task accomplished, you turn a silver spigot and 
the pure, limpid water leaps into a large porcelain 
basin, into which you cast several drops of that rosy 
liquid which softens and perfumes the skin. 

But no matter; you complete your night toilet, and, 
fresh, pure and white as a nun, you force your little 
bare feet into a pair of tiny satin slippers, and don 
your embroidered gown of the purest linen ; then, 
trembling slightly, you enter your chamber. 

On reaching the couch, Madame takes off her slip- 
pers and, with a little bound, sinks into its downy 
depths. 

At this, Monsieur, who is already asleep with his 
nose in his journal, awakes with a start. 

“ I thought you had retired long ago,” he murmurs, 
falling asleep again ; “ good-night.” 

“ If I had retired, you would have been well aware 
of it. (Madame extends her limbs and seems to 
search for something with her feet.) Oh ! I am in 
no such hurry to sleep as you are, thank heaven ! ” 
Monsieur. (Suddenly, and with visible annoyance.) 
But what is the matter with you, my dear? You toss 
and toss. I need repose. (Turns over.) 

“ I toss ! I am merely looking for my foot-warmer. 
You are a miracle of stupidity ! ” 

(Vexed.) “ Your foot-warmer ! — your foot-warmer ! ” 
“ Of course ; my feet are frozen. (She continues to 
search.) You are really very amiable, this evening ; 
you began by dozing over the Revue des Deux-Mondes, 


206 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


and now I find you snoring over the Moniteur. If I 
were you, I should change my reading-matter. I am 
sure you have taken my foot-warmer ! ” 

“ I was wrong ; I shall subscribe to the Tintamarre. 
Come now, good-night, my dear. (Turns over.) Why, 
your foot-warmer is at the foot of the bed ; I can 
feel it ! ” 

“Well, then, why do you not push it towards me? 
Do you think I can get it myself? ” 

“ Shall I ring for your waiting-maid to assist you ? 
(He makes a movement indicative of ill-humor, draws 
the cover under his chin and forces his head deeper 
into the pillow.) Good-night, my dear.” 

Madame . (Offended.) Good-night ! good-night ! 

Monsieur’s breathing grows slower and more regu- 
lar ; his brow loses its wrinkles and recovers its placid 
look ; he is about to lose all consciousness of worldly 
things. 

Madame taps lightly upon her husband’s shoulder. 

“ Hum ! ” cries Monsieur, grumbling. 

Madame taps again. 

“Well, what do you want now?” 

Madame . (In an angelic tone of voice.) My dear, 
will you please extinguish the light ? 

Monsieur . (Without opening his eyes.) The foot- 
warmer, the light, the light, the foot-warmer ! 

“ Great heavens ! how irritable you are, Oscar ! I 
will extinguish it myself; do not inconvenience your- 
self, pray! You really have a very bad temper, my 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABT. 207 


dear ; your ill-humor is unbearable, and, without the 
slightest reason, you go to the utmost extremes.” 

Monsieur. (His voice muffled by the pillow.) You 
are altogether wrong ! I am sleepy, my dear ; that is 
all. Good-night, my little wife. 

Madame. (Vivaciously.) You forget that in house- 
keeping a perfect understanding depends entirely upon 
mutual respect ! 

“ I was wrong ; come, good-night. (He turns slightly 
towards her.) Do you wish me to kiss you ? ” 

“ I do not wish it, but I shall tolerate it ! ” (She 
turns her face towards that of her husband, who kisses 
her upon the forehead.) 

“ It is really too kind of you ; you have kissed 
my cap ! ” 

Monsieur. (Smiling.) How nicely your hair is per- 
fumed ! Come, you know I am so sleepy ! Why, you 
have arranged it in little plaits ; you intend to wear it 
in artistic disorder, to-morrow, eh ? 

“Artistic disorder! You were the first to consider 
it becoming in that style ; besides, artistic disorder, as 
you call it, is all the rage, and I receive to-morrow. 
Come, you bad-tempered man, give me a hearty kiss 
and then snore at your leisure ; I know you are 
dying to snore ! ” (She turns towards her husband, 
presenting him her lips to kiss.) 

Monsieur. (Smiling.) In the first place, I never 
snore, never ! (He impresses a kiss upon his wife’s 
lips.) 


208 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


Madame pouts and casts a half-disarmed glance 
upon her husband. 

Monsieur . (Speaking very low, after a long silence, 
and with his lips close to his wife’s ear.) Darling, I 
am not at all sleepy now. Are your feet still cold ? 
Wait; I will look for the foot-warmer! 

“Oh! thank you ! Extinguish the light and let us 
go to sleep ; I am dying with fatigue.” (She turns 
and places her arm across Monsieur’s face.) 

“No, no ; I do not wish you to go to sleep with cold 
feet ; there is nothing worse than that. Ah ! here is 
the foot-warmer; place your poor feet against it — 
there — that way.” 

“ Thank you ; I am very comfortable now. Good- 
night, my dear — good-night ! ” 

“ Good-night, my darling.” 

After some time, Monsieur taps his wife gently upon 
the shoulder. 

Madame. (Frightened.) What is the matter? Heav- 
ens ! how you frightened me ! ” 

Monsieur. (Smiling.) Will you have the kindness 
to extinguish the light? 

“ What ! was it for that }^ou waked me when I was 
sleeping so soundly? I shall never be able to fall 
asleep again ! You are intolerable ! ” 

“ Am I really intolerable ? ” 

“ You are a veritable tiger ! (After a very long 
period of silence and half asleep.) Oscar ! ” 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 209 

Monsieur . (His eyes closed and in a feeble voice.) 
My darling ! 

“ Is the light still burning ? ” 

“ Ah ! the light ! I will extinguish it. (In dark- 
ness.) It would be very kind of you to let me have 
half of the foot-warmer ; my feet are like ice. Good- 
night.” 

“ Good-night.” 

And now they fall asleep. 


210 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


PART THIRD-THE FAMILY. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE BABY. 

I T was the evening of the 15th of February. The 
cold was intense. The snow dashed against the 
windows and the wind whistled an icy air through the 
key-holes. My two aunts, sitting at a table in the cor- 
ner of the parlor, gave vent, from time to time, to deep, 
heavy sighs, and, moving restlessly in their arm-chairs, 
cast, every instant, uneasy glances towards the door of 
the bed-room. One of these ladies drew from a leather 
bag upon the table her chaplet and counted her beads 
with both hands, while her sister read a volume of the 
correspondence of Voltaire, which she held at some 
distance from her eyes. 

As to myself, I walked the parlor with great strides, 
furiously biting my moustache — a bad habit from 
which I have never been able to free myself — stopping, 
now and then, in front of Doctor C , an old com- 

rade of mine, who was quietly reading his journal 
before the fire. I hesitated to interrupt him, so deeply 
was he interested in his paper ; but, in reality, I was 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 211 


irritated to see him so calm and composed when I 
myself was so terribly agitated. 

Suddenly, throwing the journal upon the sofa and 
passing his hand over his bald head : 

“ Ah ! ” said he, “ if I were minister, this state of 
affairs would not continue long, by Jove, it would not ! 
Have you read that article on Algerian cotton ? There 
are only two alternatives : either irrigation or — but 
you are not listening to me ; and yet it is more impor- 
tant than you suppose.” 

He arose, thrust his hands into his pockets and 
walked up and down the room, humming a little air he 
had learned at the hospital. I followed him, step by 
step. 

“ Jacques,” said I, the moment he turned, “ tell me 
frankly, are you perfectly satisfied ? ” 

“ Certainly, I am satisfied. Behold the limpidity of 
my gaze !” And he burst into a rather boisterous fit 
of good, hearty laughter. 

“You are not concealing anything from me, dear 
friend?” 

“ Heavens ! how stupid you are, my poor Captain! I 
tell you that everything is getting on finely.” And he 
continued to hum his little air, jingling the money in 
his pocket. “ Yes; everything is getting on finely, but 
it requires time. I wish you would give me a wrapper; 
I should be more at ease then. These ladies will 
excuse me, I trust.” 

“ Excuse you ! — you, my dear doctor and friend ! ” 

13 


212 . MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TI1E BABY. 

“Well, then, if they will excuse me, I should like 
very much to borrow a pair of slippers also.” 

At this moment, a cry of pain was heard from the 
neighboring apartment, and a voice, broken by suffer- 
ing, articulated distinctly the following words : 

“Doctor — ah! in heaven’s name — Doctor! ” 

“Oh it is terrible,” muttered my aunts, moving 
restlessly in their arm-chairs. 

“My dear friend,” cried I, seizing the doctor’s arm, 
“ are you quite sure you are not concealing anything 
from me? Tell me, tell me!” 

“ If you have a large pair, they would suit me 
better ; I have no girl’s foot, 3^011 know. Why do you 
suppose that I should conceal anything? As I have 
already said, everything is getting on finely, but it 
requires time. By the bye, tell Joseph to hunt me up a 
smoking-cap ; once in slippers and a wrapper, there is 
nothing extraordinary about a smoking-cap ; moreover, 
I am growing bald, Captain. How frigid it is here ! 
These windows face the north and are without weather- 
strips ! Mademoiselle de Y ,” cried he, turning 

towards one of my aunts, “} 7 ou will most assuredly 
catch cold.” And then, upon a repetition of the 
painful cries ; “ Come,” said he. 

We entered the bed-room. My wife’s mother w’as 
at her side consoling her. 

She smiled upon her, but her eyes were full of tears, 
and she turned, from time to time, to dry them. On 
the bureau lay two or three little bundles, wrapped in 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TI1E BABY. 213 


red and blue favors : they were the baby’s first toilet, 
sweetly perfumed and ready for use. I took one of the 
little caps and put it over my fist, which it hardly 
covered. 

“ Come to me,” said my poor darling, who had seen 
me enter; “come, give me your hand and do not 
withdraw it.” 

I remained beside her, my hand in hers, while the 
doctor, who had donned my wrapper, sought vainly to 
button it around him. The fire crackled in the chim- 
ney. The pendulum of the clock continued its 
monotonous tic-tac ; but it seemed to me that this 
great calm was only apparent, and that everything 
around me was in the same state of anxiety and emo- 
tion as myself. In the neighboring bed-room, the door 
of which was partially open, I saw one end of the tiny 
cradle, and, upon the wall, the shadow of the nurse 
who had fallen asleep while waiting. 

What I experienced was very strange. I felt a sen- 
timent entirely new to me spring into being in my 
heart ; a strange something seemed to take possession 
of my breast — a sensation so unknown to me and yet 
so sweet that I trembled as if in fear. I felt this little 
creature that was to be cling to me, and his whole life 
lay before my mind’s eye. It was a vision of what was 
yet to come ; I saw him as a child and as a man ; it 
seemed to me that I was about to lead a double life in 
him, and I felt an irresistible need of giving him some- 
thing of my own being. 


214 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


Towards half-past eleven o’clock, the doctor drew 
from his vest pocket a large watch, consulting it as a 
mariner does his compass, and, muttering a few words, 
approached the bed. 

“ Do you think the moment is approaching, 
Jacques ? ” said I. 

“ I believe that within half an hour’s time the little 
darling will have made her entrance into the world; 
notice the clock.” 

“ What do you mean by her? My good fellow, this 
is to be a boy, you know ; no jesting, Jacques ! ” 

Jacques grew serious, removed the wrapper and cast 
it upon the sofa. I looked at him as the mariner looks 
at the heavens on the approach of a storm. 

“ Come, my dear friend,” said he to my wife, “ we 
are all near you, and everything is well.” 

My mother-in-law was beside herself. Her cap was 
disarranged and her hair so singularly disheveled that, 
under any other circumstances, I should have laughed 
outright. At one moment, I heard the parlor door open, 
and saw, one above the other, the two heads of my 
aunts, and, behind them, that of my father who was 
twirling his large white moustache with a grimace 
peculiar to himself. 

“ Close the door ! ” cried the doctor, angrily. “ Go 
away!” And turning towards my mother-in-law, he 
said, with the greatest coolness imaginable: “I ask a 
thousand pardons, Madame ! ” 

But my old comrade's roughness had the desired 
effect : the door was closed immediately. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 215 


******* 

At last, after a deep silence, the doctor held up a 
small rosy being, which, almost immediately, gave a 
little cry as sharp and piercing as a needle. I shall 
never forget the impression made upon me by the 
sudden apparition of this tiny creature in the midst of 
the family. We had often thought of it, dreamed of it, 
and my imagination had frequently pictured to me our 
darling baby, playing upon the floor, pulling my mous- 
tache, learning to walk, or, in the arms of its nurse, 
gorging itself with milk like a greedy little cat, and 
going down the stairs with both mother and father 
after it, and I — so clumsy as to step on my wife’s dress; 
all these things I thought, but I had never thought of 
it as inanimate, almost without a vestige of life, incred- 
iblj" small, bald, grinning — and charming, beloved, 
adored in spite of its ugliness, the poor little creature ! 
The impression was so singular that it is impossible to 
understand it without a similar experience. 

“ You are a lucky man, Captain ! ” muttered the 
doctor, turning the infant towards me ; “ it is a boy ! ” 
“ A boy ! ” 

“ A sound and hearty boy, Captain ! ” 

And this tiny living being screamed and gesticulated 
as Jacques held it out in his hand. I felt almost insig- 
nificant before this trembling atom of humanity ! I do 
not pretend to explain all this ; I only give you my 
impressions. 

My mother-in-law held out her apron, and the 


216 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 


doctor deposited the infant upon its grandmother’s 
knees, saying : 

“ Come, my little savage, try not to be worse than 
your father was. And now, why don’t you embrace 
me, Captain?” 

And we did embrace each other heartily. The 
doctor’s little black eyes shone and blinked more than 
usual ; I saw clearly that he was touched. 

“ Did it shock you much, Captain ? It was the 
shriek! Ah ! how well I know it: it is a stiletto that 
pierces the heart ! Where is the nurse ? Ah ! here she 
is. But open the door to the prisoners in the parlor.” 

I opened the door. Every one was listening behind 
it : my father, tearing his moustache ; my two aunts, 
one grasping her Voltaire, the other her chaplet; and 
my own good old nurse, who had come in a cab. 

“ Well ? well ? ” cried all at once, “ well ? ” 

“ It is all over ! It is a boy ! Come in ; there he is ! ” 

You cannot imagine how happy I was to see my 
emotion reflected in all these friendly faces. I was 
embraced, my hands were pressed and my shoulders 
were patted, and I replied to each hearty congratula- 
tion without knowing from whom it came. 

“ By thun — der ! ” muttered my father, as he threw 
his arms around me — he still held his hat and cane in 
his hand — By thun — ” But he could not finish the 
ejaculation ; strong as was his desire to appear brave, a 
great, brilliant tear trembled at the end of his nose. 
“ Hum ! ” said he, from under his moustache, and he 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 217 


burst into tears upon my shoulder, exclaiming : “ I 

cannot help it, my boy ! ” 

And I — I did exactly as he did ; nor could I help it 
either ! 

Meanwhile, everybody had surrounded the grand- 
mother, who, raising the corner of her apron, cried : 

“Is he not a beauty? Nurse, warm the linen and 
give me his cap.” 

“ Coo to aunty,” chirped one of my aunts, jingling 
her beads above his head, “coo to aunty, darling.” 

“ Take advantage of the opportunity and ask him to 
recite you a fable,” added the doctor. 

“Where is he?” my wife murmured, faintly. 

They pointed to her mother’s apron. 

Taking my hand, she drew me to her side and 
whispered, so low as to be almost inaudible : 

“ It is a boy, is it not ? ” 

“ Yes, darling.” 

“ Come, come ! ” cried the doctor. “ No emotion ! 
You may embrace each other to-morrow. Colonel,” he 
added, turning to my father, who } T et held his hat and 
cane, “ prevent them from embracing, please. No 
emotion ! Let every one leave the room. I am going 
to dress the young Captain of the Lancers. Pass me 
the gentleman, grandma. Hold still, you little savage ! ” 

He took the tiny fellow in his two large hands and 
sat down with him before the fire. 

I kept my eyes fixed upon my bo} r , as Jacques turned 
him over and over like a puppet, but with extreme 


218 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


caution. He examined him thoroughly, sounded him 
and patted him, saying, with a jovial smile : 

“ Hearty as a buck, Captain, hearty as a buck ! ” 
Then he wrapped him in his warm linen, covered his 
tiny, bald head with a triple-padded cap, tied a ribbon 
under his chin to prevent his head from falling back, 
and, viewing his work with satisfaction : 

“ You have seen me perform this operation, nurse,” 
said he; “every morning you must dress the little 
Captain exactly as I have done. Until to-morrow 
sugared water will suffice. The mother has no fever 
whatever. Everything progresses finely. What luck 
you have, Captain ! As to myself, I am as hungry as 
a wolf ? Do you know it is one o’clock in the morn- 
ing ? Have you not a stray bit of partridge, or a piece 
of cold pate that no one has any further use for ? 
Anything of the sort would be very acceptable to me — 
with a bottle of something or other ! ” 

We both descended into the dining-room, where we 
set the table without ceremony. 

Never in my life did I eat and drink so much and so 
heartily as that morning. 

“ Come,” said the doctor, drawing on his overcoat, 
“you must retire. To-morrow, you shall have a 
permanent nurse ; I will send one. But no, I will call 
for you, and we two will go and choose one. Be under 
arms at half-past eight, Captain. Good-morning ! ” 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 219 


CHAPTER II. 

NEW year’s DAY IN THE FAMILY — FIVE YEARS 
LATER. 

I T is hardly seven o’clock. A pale, dull ray of 
light breaks through the double curtains, and 
there is already some one at the door. I hear, in 
the adjoining room, stifled peals of laughter and the 
silvery voice of my boy, which trembles with impa- 
tience and demands admission. 

“ Papa,” cries he, “ it is baby, it is the little one, 
who has come to wish you a happy New Year ! ” 

“ Enter, my darling ; come embrace us — quick ! ” 
The door opens and the little fellow, his arms 
stretched out towards us and his bright eyes spark- 
ling, precipitates himself into the room. From under 
his night-cap, which imprisons his golden hair, escape 
long, refractory curls that fall over his forehead. His 
great, flowing night-gown catches under his feet, aug- 
ments his impatience and causes him to stumble at 
every step. 

At last, he has crossed the room, and, putting his 
tiny hands in mine : 

“ Baby wishes you a happy New Year ! ” he lisps, in 
a trembling voice. 

“Poor little love, with bare feet! Come, my 


220 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


darling, come warm yourself under the covers; come 
hide yourself among the feathers.” 

I draw him to me ; but my wife, who has been fast 
asleep until now, is awakened by the movement, and, 
springing up in bed : 

“Who is there?” she cries, grasping at the bell. 
“ Help ! Robbers ! ” 

“ But it is only we, my dear.” 

“ You ? — who ? Heavens ! how you frightened me ! 
I dreamed that the house was on fire, and then came 
your voices in the midst of the confusion ! You were 
very imprudent to cry aloud ! ” 

“ Cry aloud ! But you forget, little mother, that it 
is New Year’s morning, the day of good wishes and 
kisses ! Baby awaits your waking and I also.” 

I wrap my little man in the soft quilt, press him 
down into the feathers and warm his icy feet in my 
hands. 

“Mamma, it is New Year’s day,” he cries, and, 
taking our two heads in his tiny hands, he draws 
them together, bends over us, and kisses first one 
and then the other. I feel his little, dimpled fingers 
press upon my neck and entangle themselves in my 
beard. 

My moustache pricks the end of his nose, and, 
throwing back his curly head, he laughs aloud in 
childish glee. 

His mother, who has now recovered from her fright, 
clasps him in her arms and rings the bell. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 221 


“The New Year dawns happily, my dear ones,” she 
exclaims; “but it would be better to have a little 
more light.” 

“Say, mamma, bad children get no toys on New 
Year’s day, do they?” With these Words, the cunning 
fellow glances towards a mountain of bundles and 
boxes heaped up in the corner, visible despite the 
obscurity of the apartment. 

The curtains are soon drawn aside, the shutters are 
thrown open, and the room is flooded with sunbeams; 
the fire crackles gayly on the hearth and two large 
bundles, carefully wrapped, are placed upon the bed. 
One is for my wife and the other for baby. 

What is it? What can it be? I have tied the 
strings in a thousand knots and tripled the wrappers, 
and my joy is unbounded as I follow the movements 
of their busy fingers that seek to open the bundles. 

My wife grows impatient, smiles, becomes angry, 
embraces me and calls for the scissors. 

As to baby, he pulls with all his might, bites his 
lips and ends by asking my assistance. His eyes are 
eager to pierce the envelope. All the signs of anxious 
expectation are visible upon his countenance. His 
hand, lost in the depths of the bed, rustles the 
silken cover by its convulsive movements, and his 
lips move with a noise as at the approach of delicious 
fruit. 

Finally, the last paper is torn off. The lid is 
removed and their eyes beam with joy. 


222 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


“ My tippet ! ” 

“ My menagerie ! ” 

“It exactly matches my muff — what a dear, good 
husband ! ” 

“ Oh ! and a shepherd on wheels — dear papa, how I 
love you ! ” 

Four arms are immediately entwined around my 
neck, embracing me again and again. My heart is 
full and, glancing towards my wife, I see two pearly 
tears gleaming on her cheeks. Baby is wild with joy, 
and a little sigh escapes him as he kisses my hand. 

This is absurd, I hear you say. 

Perhaps so — but it is delicious ! 

And, after all, does not suffering claim so many 
tears that we may be pardoned the few with which 
joy may moisten the eye ? 

Life is not so sweet that one might wish to venture 
upon it alone ; and when the heart is empty, the road 
is long. 

It is pleasant to feel that one is beloved, to hear at 
one’s side the well-known steps of one’s travelling 
companions, and to murmur : “ They are here ; our 

three hearts beat in unison.” And, once a year, when 
the clock at midnight welcomes the first of January, 
how delicious it is to sit down together by the wayside, 
your hands clasped in theirs, your eyes fixed upon the 
dusty road which loses itself at the horizon, and to 
say, with a fond embrace : “ Our love is pure and 

true, my dear ones ; trust in me and I will trust in 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABT. 223 


you. Let us have confidence and wander down the 
hill of life hand in hand together.” 

That, I believe, is why one weeps a little on looking 
upon a tippet and on opening a child’s menagerie. 

But the breakfast hour draws nigh. I have cut my 
chin twice in shaving my beard ; I have walked over 
the animals in my boy’s menagerie, and have twelve 
visits in prospect — obligatory visits, as my wife is 
pleased to call them; nevertheless, I am perfectly 
happy. 

We seat ourselves at table. The plates, glistening 
upon a cloth of the purest white, have an unaccus- 
tomed air of festivity. A slight odor of truffles fills 
the air ; every one smiles, and, through the windows, I 
see — what is strange, indeed, — the concierge polishing 
the rail of the stairway with his own hands and his 
own pocket-handkerchief, by heavens ! Oh ! it is a 
charming day ! 

Baby has arranged his elephants, lions and giraffes 
in a line around his plate, and his mother, under the 
pretext of being chilly, breakfasts in her tippet. 

“ Have you ordered the carriage for our visits, my 
dear ? ” 

“ Aunt Ursule’s cushion will occupy an entire seat — 
but, then, we can place it on the box with the driver.” 

“ Oh ! poor aunt ! ” 

“ Papa, do not visit Aunt Ursule,” says baby. “ She 
always pricks me when she kisses me ! ” 

“ Monsieur Baby! Have you thought of all that we 


224 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


have to take with us in the carriage — Ldon’s walking- 
horse, Louise’s muff, your father’s slippers, Ernestine’s 
rug, the bonbons and the work-box ? My word for it, 
you will have to place Aunt Ursule’s cushion under 
the driver’s feet ! ” 

“Papa, why will the giraffe not eat mutton chops?” 

“I cannot say, my little man.” 

“ Nor I, either, papa ! ” 

An hour later, we ascend Aunt Ursule’s stairway. 
My wife counts the steps as she clings to the balus- 
trade, and I carry the famous cushion, the bonbons 
and my boy, w~ho would not consent to accompany us 
without his giraffe. 

Aunt Ursule, who produces upon my boy the same 
effect as a handful of rods, awaits us in her icy little 
parlor. Four square arm-chairs, covered with yellow 
cloth, stand drearily behind four little foot-mats. A 
clock, in the form of a pyramid surmounted by a ball, 
gives vent to its monotonous tic-tac beneath a glass 
globe twice as large as necessary. 

A portrait hanging from the wall and spotted by 
flies represents a nymph, armed with a lyre, basking 
beside a cascade. This nymph is Aunt Ursule. How 
she has changed ! 

“ My dear aunt, we come to wish you a happy New 
Year.” 

“ And to wish you all the joy — ” 

“ Enough, my nephew and niece ; sit down.” And 
she points out the chairs upon which we are to sit. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 225 


“ I am sensible of your kindness in putting yourselves 
to this trouble ; it proves that you have not com- 
• pletely forgotten the duties imposed upon you by 
relationship.” 

“You do not take into consideration, my dear aunt, 
the affection we entertain for you, which alone is a 
sufficient motive for our visit. Baby, come kiss your 
aunt.” 

Baby . (Whispering in my ear.) But, papa, I assure 
you she pricks me ! (I place the bonbons upon the 
table.) 

“My nephew, you might have dispensed with this 
present ; you know very well that confectionery does 
not agree with me, and, if I were not aware of your 
indifference in regard to my health, I should look upon 
it as a piece of sarcasm. But let us change the 
subject. Does your father still bear his infirmities 
courageously ? ” 

“You are very kind, aunt.” 

“ I thought to prepare you an agreeable surprise, 
dear aunt, in embroidering for you this cushion, which 
I trust you will accept.” 

“ I thank you, my child, but I can still sit upright, 
thank heaven ! and have no need of a cushion ! The 
work is charming: it is an oriental design. You might 
have made a better choice, knowing that I admire sim- 
plicity. It is charming, however, although this red 
beside the green brings tears into one’s eyes. 1 have 
already experienced this sensation in peeling onions. 


226 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


Taste in the selection of colors is not a common gift ! 
In return, I offer you my photograph, which the good 
Abbd Miron implored me to have taken in the form of 
a carte de visite, as you see.” 

“Oh! how kind you are, and how striking is the 
resemblance! Do you recognize your aunt, baby?” 

“Do not consider yourself obliged to express an 
opinion which you do not entertain. This photograph 
bears no resemblance to me at all ; my eyes are much 
brighter. Here is also a package of jujube for your 
offspring. He seems to have grown.” 

“ Baby, come embrace your aunt.” 

“ And we will leave afterwards, mamma ? ” 

“ You are very impolite, my boy ! ” 

“ Let him speak ; he, at least, is frank ! But I see 
that your husband is growing impatient; you have sev- 
eral other similar — duties to perform and I shall not 
detain you. I shall attend service, and pray for those 
who never bend the knee.” 

“ One obligatory visit from twelve leaves eleven. 
Hum ! — Driver, Rue Saint-Louis in the Marais.” 

“But has not Aunt Ursule pins in her chin, papa?” 

With your permission we will pass the eleven other 
obligatory visits ; they are as disagreeable to describe 
as to make. 

Towards five o’clock in the afternoon — God be 
praised! — the horses stop before the paternal domicile, 
where dinner awaits us. Baby claps his tiny hands 
and smiles to old Jeannette, who, attracted by the 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABV. 227 


noise of the carriage, has come to open the door. 
“ Here they are ! ” she cries, and carries baby with her 
into the kitchen, where my mother, her sleeves rolled 
up to the elbow, is giving the finishing touch to the 
traditional cake. 

My father, who is about to descend into the cellar, 
lamp in hand, escorted by his old servant, Jean, who 
carries the wine basket, stops suddeidy. 

44 How late you are, my children! Come to my arms, 
my dear ones ; this is the day for hearty embraces ! 
Here, Jean, hold the lamp a minute.” 

And so my aged father clasps me to his breast, his 
hand seeks mine and presses it cordially. Baby, who 
is passing to and fro, pulls us by our coats and holds 
up his little lips for a kiss. 

44 But I detain you in the hall, and you are nearly 
frozen, I know; enter the parlor; you will find there a 
warm fire and some good friends.” 

We have been heard; the door opens and loving 
arms are stretched towards us. In the midst of 
pressures of the hand, embraces, kisses and good 
wishes, the boxes are opened, there is a shower of 
bonbons, the bundles are torn apart, gayety grows 
into tumult and good humor into uproar. 

Baby, standing amid his riches, is like one intoxi- 
cated in the treasure-vaults, and from time to time be 
gives vent to his happiness in a little cry of joy, as he 
discovers some new plaything. 

14 


228 MONSIEUR* MADAME AND THE BABY. 


44 But the little man has a fable to recite ! ” cries my 
father, as he takes the lamp from Jean’s hand. 

This declaration produces a deep silence, and the 
poor child, who is just about to make his first attempt 
in the art of declamation, suddenly loses every vestige 
of courage. He gazes upon the floor, blushes and 
takes refuge in his mother’s arms, who, bending to his 
ear, whispers : 

“ Come, darling, begin : 4 A lamb was quenching its 
thirst — you remember — the little lamb?” 

44 Yes, mamma, the little sheep that wished to drink.” 
And, in a contrite voice, his head hanging upon his 
breast, he recites, with a deep sigh : 44 4 A lamb was 
quenching its thirst in a stream of pure, transparent 
water.’ ” 

And we all listen with smiles upon our lips to the 
delicious jargon of the child. 

Uncle Bertrand, who is rather deaf, has bent his 
hand into the shape of a trumpet, and, drawing his 
chair nearer to the orator : 44 Ah ! yes, yes,” says he ; 

44 1 understand: it is ‘The Fox and the Grapes.’” 
And, upon several persons crying hush, he adds: 
44 Yes, yes; he recites with much address, very much 
address ! ” 

Rendered more confident by his success, baby termi- 
nates his fable with a peal of hearty laughter. Gayety 
is communicative and we sit down at table in the midst 
of unrestrained mirth. 

The soup tureen is enveloped in a cloud of steam, 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 229 


and my mother, after having cast a smiling glance 
around the table, plunges the ladle into the savory 
liquid. 

Ah ! well ! a glass to the family table where are 
seated those whom we love and trust, where, during 
dessert, we are not afraid to lean our elbows upon the 
cloth, and where we find, after a lapse of thirty years, 
the good old wine our fathers drank at our christening ! 


230 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE WIFE’S LETTERS. 

I HAVE very great need, my dear Marie, of several 
of those little caps, — you know which ones I mean. 
Now, will you not have the kindness to send me the 
pattern of your own invention — that with the drawing- 
strings, you know ? Thank you, very much, for your 
padded quilt. It is soft, pliable, warm and delightful, 
and my baby, lying in its white, downy depths, is like 
a rose-bud hidden in the snow. I am growing poetic, 
am I not? Ah! if you only knew how my poor heart 
overflows with joy ! My boy ! you understand, darling, 
he is my boy ! When I heard the sharp cry of this 
little being that my mother held out to me in her apron, 
it seemed that a burning shiver of love passed through 
my entire frame. I cried out and wept. The bald, 
shining head of my good old doctor was at my side, 
and I grasped it in my hands and kissed it thrice. 

“Be calm, my dear,” said he. 

“Silence, Doctor, or I shall kiss you again ! Give me 
my darling, my baby. Are you quite sure it is a boy?” 

And in the adjoining apartment, where the entire 
family had awaited the event, I heard, amid the sound of 
kisses, those delicious words : “ It is a boy, a fine boy ! ” 
My poor husband, who during twelve long hours had 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 231 


not left my side, broken with emotion and fatigue, 
wept and laughed in the corner of the room. 

“ Come, nurse, swathe him promptly. No pins ! by 
thunder, no pins, you know! Strings, nothing but 
strings! What do you say? Give me the child; you 
know nothing at all about it ! ” 

And the good doctor dressed him with wonderful 
rapidity. 

“ The young rascal has the air of a colonel ! Put him 
in the cradle with a— come, come, be calm, my dear 
friend— with a foot-warmer at his feet. Not too much 
fire, especially in the young gentleman’s room ! And 
now, be perfectly quiet, little mother; repose is neces- 
sary. Every one must leave the room!” And, as 
Aunt Ursule peeped through the half-open door and 
whispered in a very low voice : “ Let me come in, 
Doctor, just to press her hand ! ” he added : “In the 
name of all the furies, get out ! You know very well 
that silence and repose are absolutely necessary.” 

She disappeared. 

“ Oscar,” continued the doctor, turning to my 
husband, “ come, kiss your little wife and have done 
with it. How courageous she has been ! Come, kiss 
her, and be quick about it or I shall kiss her myself! ” 
he added, menacingly. 

Oscar, lost in contemplation of his boy, heard nothing 
of what was said. 

“ Heavens ! he will suffocate the little Colonel ! ” 

My husband came to me, at last, and gave me his 


232 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

trembling hand. I pressed it with all my might. 
That my heart did not break at that moment I am 
sure was because the good Lord knew I should have 
need of it afterwards. 

You know, Marie, that before the advent of a baby 
in the household, one loves, it is true, but one loves 
egotistically ; afterwards, one loves for the sake of the 
darling little cherub, which with its tiny hand rivets 
the chain forever. God permits the heart to open and 
enlarge for its reception. My heart was full, but my 
baby still found ample room. There was no overflow, 
however, and I feel that there is yet a good warm 
place for my mother and yourself, darling ! Ah ! you 
told me it would be so, and you spoke the truth. I 
lead a new life, a life of great affection and delicious 
devotion. My entire past existence seems now to have 
been insignificant and dull, and I feel that, in reality, 
I am just beginning to live. I am as proud as a soldier 
who has fought a good fight. Wife and mother, those 
are my epaulets ! Grandmother, that is the marshal’s 
baton ! 

Oh ! how sweet I shall render the existence of these 
two beloved beings ! How I shall divine their every 
wish ! Foolish child that I am, I weep — oh ! could I 
but embrace you ! I really believe I am too happy I 

My husband could not be more kind. He holds his 
boy with such graceful awkwardness, and puts forth 
such an effort to raise this slight burden ! When he 
brings him to me, hidden in his covers, he walks with 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 233 


such slow and cautious steps that one might think ftie 
earth was about to give way beneath him ! Then he 
places the little treasure upon my bed, presses him 
down into the soft depths of a pillow, very, very 
near me. We both bend over him, laugh to him, coo 
to him, and if, after countless efforts, we cause him 
to smile, our joy is boundless! Very often, we remain 
a long time in unbroken silence beside this little 
being, our heads resting in our hands and our eyes 
following the movements of his tiny, rosy fingers 
as they agitate the silken covers. And, oh ! in this 
silent contemplation we find a charm of such untold 
happiness and calmness, that it requires something of 
more than ordinary importance to tear us from it ! 

You would die of laughter could you but overhear 
our discussions upon the shape of his forehead and the 
color of liis eyes; and we always terminate our debates 
by forming projects for his future career, all of which 
are very foolish, no doubt, but very charming. 

Oscar declares he shall be a diplomate ; for he has, says 
he, the eye of a statesman, and his gestures, though few, 
are very impressive. Poor, dear little ambassador, with 
only three hairs like Cadet Roussel ! But then what 
darling, golden hairs they are ! How they curl over his 
fresh, rosy skin, whither kisses fly of themselves ! 

What, dear friend, are the invisible bonds that unite 
us to our infants? Is it a portion of our own souls 
that we have given them, a part of our own life that 
animates them ? It must be something like that, for I 


234 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BART. 


can read my baby’s misty thoughts. I divine his 
desires ; I know when lie is cold and feel when he is 
hungry. 

Do you know which is the most delightful moment 
of my life ? It is when, after having made his evening 
repast, after having gorged himself like a hungry little 
kitten, his sweet eyelids fall upon his rosy cheeks and 
I rock him to sleep in my arms. His limbs slowly lose 
their power, his eyes close and his head sinks upon my 
breast, while his trembling lips, half-open, still repeat 
the movements they made but a few moments before. 

His warm, moist breath reaches my hand as I hold 
him. Then I wrap him softly in the folds of my dress, 
hide his feet in his robe and contemplate my darling. I 
have him there upon my knees, and I feel that he is 
mine. Not a single sigh escapes his little lips that does 
not find an echo in my heart, and there is not a single 
movement of his tiny body that is not met by a 
response in my own. I feel, in the depths of my soul, 
a mirror that reflects his form ; I feel that he is still a 
part of my being. Is it not I who nourish him ; is 
it not my voice that calms and hushes him into slumber, 
my hand that dresses and caresses him, and my arm 
that sustains him? And the thought that I am every- 
thing to my darling lends a charm of delicious 
protection to the happiness of my life. 

Yes; the present is golden, and I am intoxicated 
with happiness. But the future is also there, in the 
cloudy distance. I often think of it, and I know not 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 235 


why, but I tremble as at the approach of a storm. 
Folly ! I shall love him so discreetly and the weight of 
my affection shall rest so lightly upon his shoulders I 
Why should he leave me? Shall I not become his friend 
in time ? And when a dark down shall have covered 
those now rosy lips, when the bird shall have felt the 
power of its wings and wished to launch itself from its 
silken nest, shall I not be able to draw him back, by 
invisible bonds, into those arms in which he now lies 
dreaming? Perhaps, in that terrible moment which 
men call youth, he will forget me ! Other hands than 
mine, perhaps, shall smooth back his curly locks from 
his forehead. Alas ! other lips may press where my lips 
now linger, and efface, with a single kiss, the recollec- 
tion of twenty years of caresses! Yes, my boy; but 
when you return from this toilsome, weary journey, 
changed and broken, you will take refuge in those arms 
that rocked you to sleep in the olden time, hide your 
aching brow once more where it now lies, ask me to 
dry your tears and cause you to forget your toils and 
troubles. Then, I, weeping with joy, shall press upon 
your lips the kiss that consoles and inspires hope. 

But, my dear Marie, 1 perceive that I am writing a 
volume ! I shall not re-read what I have written, for if 
I did, I know well that I should never send it to you. 
Forgive me, dearest, for being a little poetic and, 
perhaps, foolish; but I have not, as yet, grown 
accustomed to being so happy ! 


236 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


Yes, my dear, he is a man now; really, a little man. 
He has returned from the country much larger and 
very hard to please. He climbs upon the chairs, stops 
the clocks, and struts, with his hands in his pockets, 
like a proprietor. 

When I see my baby’s little boots placed proudly 
beside his papa’s, on descending into the hall in the 
morning, I make, in spite of myself, a review of a past 
which was not long ago. Yesterday swaddling-clothes, 
to-day boots, to-morrow spurs. Ah ! happy days have 
wings ! Four years gone already ! I could hardly 
carry him now, taking for granted that he would permit 
me — for he is becoming very particular in regard to his 
manly dignity. He passes half of his time armed to 
the teeth; his pistols, guns, swords and whips are 
scattered all over the house. In his movements robust 
health is so apparent that I am overjoyed ! 

But do not imagine that my demon no longer pos- 
sesses any redeeming qualities: at times he is an 
angel and returns my caresses with interest. In the 
evening, after dinner, he takes possession of my arm- 
chair, seizes my head in his hands and dresses my 
hair to suit his own taste. His little fresh lips 
impress a thousand kisses upon my own, kisses which 
make me tremble like an aspen. And then, we have 
interminable little chats together. The “ whys ” fall 
upon me like hailstones in winter, and to each one 
of them he demands a satisfactory reply, for the 
minds of children are, above all things, essentially 
logical. One example will suffice: 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 237 


HLs grandmother is in rather bad health, and, every 
evening, he adds to his prayer the following simple 
words : “ My God, bless my grandmother, whom I 

love with all my heart, with a return of perfect health. ,, 
But in order to be more precise, he continues : “ Thou 
knowest, good Lord, my grandmother who lives in the 
Rue Saint-Louis on the second floor ! ” He says this 
with such an expression of innocent confidence and 
gracefully amusing seriousness, the darling ! You 
know, my dear, he wishes to save the good Lord the 
trouble of searching for the address ! 

But I must say farewell to you now; I hear him 
coughing. I know not whether he has taken a cold 
or not, but, since this morning, he has looked badly. 
Do not laugh at me if I appear unduly anxious in 
regard to his health. 

* * * # * * * 

There was a consultation yesterday. On departing, 
the tears stood in the eyes of our old family doctor ; 
he tried to hide them, but I saw them ! Is my child 
seriously ill? Oh! this is an atrocious, cruel thought, 
my poor friend. They wish to reassure me, but I 
tremble. 

He was no better, last night. Still the terrible 
fever ! Ah ! if you could only see the change in this 
beautiful little being we so much admired! Oh! I 
do not wish to think of that which seems to be God’s 
will ! They have ordered ice to be put upon his head ! 
I have had to cut off all those beautiful golden locks, 


238 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


which the wind waved about his forehead when he 
chased his hoop ! It is terrible ! My dreams are hor- 
rible ! My boy! my darling boy! He is so feeble that 
his poor little dry lips can no longer utter a word. 
His large eyes, that still light up now and then, smile 
upon me from time to time ; but this smile is so soft 
and so faint that it seems a farewell ! Farewell ! But 
what would become of me ? 

No! no! I exaggerate, doubtless ! 

This morning, thinking him asleep, I could not sup- 
press a sigh. His lips parted and he said to me, but so 
feebly that I had to place my ear close to him to catch 
the sound : 

“ You love me, mamma, do you not?” 

Love him ! It would kill me ! 

******* 

They advised me to come to Nice, but I feel no 
improvement. I grow weaker each day. I spit blood 
continually. And of what do they wish to cure me ? 
If I never return to Paris, you will find in my bureau 
his last toys ; the trace of his little fingers is still upon 
them. On the left side, you will see the branch of 
box-wood that hung from his bed. Let no other hands 
than your own touch these things. Burn these dear 
relics, these poor witnesses of vanished happiness ! I 
can still see — ah ! my sobs choke me ! 

Farewell, my friend. I have built too grand an 
edifice on too fragile a foundation ! I have loved one 
being too well ! 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 239 


CHAPTER IV. 

OLD RECOLLECTIONS — THE BABIES. 

W RAP yourselves in your beautiful green leaves, 
vast groves with peaceful shadows. Steal 
through the branches, gay sunlight ; you, studious 
promenaders, contemplative idlers, sprightly mammas, 
talkative nurses, brawling children and famished 
babies, take possession of your kingdom : these long 
alleys belong to you ! 

To-day is Sunday. Festivity and joy! The waffle- 
merchant opens his shop and prepares his warming- 
pans. The white cloth is spread upon the table and 
mountains of golden cakes attract the purchaser. 

The woman who hires out chairs has donned her 
apron and great leather pockets for sous. The park- 
keeper, your bugbear, dear babies ! has waxed his 
moustache, polished his innocent sword and put on 
his best uniform. See how bright and attractive are 
“ Punch and Judy,” as the sunbeams rest upon their 
painted awning ! 

Unhappy they to whom the huge trees of the Lux- 
embourg Garden recall none of those souvenirs that 
cling to the heart like a perfume to the vase. 

I was a general under those old trees, a general, 
plumed like a perfumery vender and armed to the 


240 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


teeth. I commanded the entire region lying between 
the news-stand and the shop of the waffle-merchant. 
No modesty : my word was law even to the border of 
the basin, although the great white swans inspired me 
with dre^id. There were ambuscades behind the tree 
trunks, pickets behind the nurses, surprises, sword 
combats, battle-axe combats, attacks of sharp-shooters, 
dust, struggle, slaughter arid not one drop of blood 
spilled! Then mamma wiped the perspiration from 
our foreheads, arranged our disordered hair and tore 
us from the battle of which we dreamed all night. 

When I traverse this garden now, lingering in the 
midst of this army of babies and nurses, how my mind 
wanders back to the days when I wore my pasteboard 
helmet, my wooden sword, my plume and my pistol 
with a spring — for my pistol snapped. This was the 
cause of my rapid promotion. 

Play, darling little children ; chatter, buxom nurses, 
and scold your gallant firemen ; embroider tranquilly, 
young mothers, as you ridicule your neighbors a trifle ; 
and you, contemplative idlers, look upon this charming 
picture. Without the babies a garden is nothing ! 

They sport in the sand ! The enjoyment is as old as 
the world, but always amusing. Mountains grow, and 
little bits of wood stuck in the side of a mound repre- 
sent adorable English gardens, in the alleys of which 
the baby gravely puts his uncertain tiny feet. What 
would he not give, the dear little fellow, to be able to 
complete his work by constructing a basin in his park 
— a basin with an outlet and — three drops of water ! 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 241 


A little further on the soil is more humid. With a 
mighty effort, he pierces a tunnel in the side of the 
mountain — the work of a giant, which the boot of a 
passer-by annihilates in a moment. And what passer- 
by respects baby’s mountain? But the little fellow 
has his revenge. See yonder gentleman in the maroon- 
colored coat, gravely reading his Revue des Deux 
Mondes; our toilers have accumulated around him 
great heaps of sand and dust — the skirts of his coat 
are already colorless. 

But let us make way for this equipage that passes 
with shouts and noise. Four horses, two strings and 
a fifth horse for a driver. Nothing more than that — and 
they believe themselves in a post-chaise. How many 
countries they have seen this evening! 

There are coachmen who would prefer being horses, 
and horses that would rather be coachmen; the first 
symptom of ambition. 

And then the solitary baby, who slowly drags his 
omnibus around the waffle-merchants shop, eyeing 
the cakes as he passes! Indefatigable consumer, but 
bad pay ! 

Do you see, down there, under the plane trees, that 
throng of nurses, that herd of Burgundian milk-maids, 
and at their feet, rolling upon the grass, all those little 
red-cheeked philosophers, who ask of the good Lord 
nothing more than a ray of sunshine, pure milk and 
peace to be supremely happy ? 

This little world is charming; we love children, but 


242 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


our affection for the species in general is changed very 
materially when it is a question not of the baby but 
of our baby ! 

I am a father, my dear Madame, but I have been a 
papa, and, of course, the papa of a love of a child. 
From beneath his cap escaped a lock of curly, flaxen 
hair that was our joy, and, when I touched his, neck 
with the tip of my finger, he laughed heartily, showing 
his little, pearly teeth and taking my head in his two 
tiny hands. 

His first tooth was an event. We raised the cur- 
tains in order to see better, and his grandparents 
brought their spectacles to bear upon this little white 
spot, while I, my neck outstretched, demonstrated, 
explained and proved — after which I ran, with all 
haste, into the cellar to seek, in a corner known to 
myself, a bottle of the choicest wine ! 

My boy’s tooth! We spoke of his career during 
dinner, and at dessert grandma sang a song. 

After this tooth came other teeth, and with them 
pains and tears ; but then, w r hen his little mouth was 
armed with a full set, how proudly he bit his bread, 
how vigorously he attacked his cutlet, in order to do 
like papa. 

Like papa! You well know how these two words 
warm the heart, and how many misdeeds they cause 
you to pardon ! 

My greatest happiness — was it also yours ? — was to 
wake my little one in the morning. I knew his hour. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 243 


I softly pushed aside the curtains of his cradle and, 
bending over him, awaited the opening of his pretty 
blue eyes. 

Most frequently I found him lying diagonally across 
the bed, lost in the chaos of pillows and covers, his 
legs in the air and his arms crossed above his head ; 
very often his dimpled fingers still clasped the toy with 
which he had played himself to sleep the evening 
before, and from between his half-open lips escaped the 
soft and regular murmur of his respiration. The 
warmth of his downy nest had given to his cheeks the 
hues of a ripe peach. His skin was warm, and the 
perspiration of the night stood upon his forehead in 
scarcely perceptible little pearls. 

Very soon, however, he made a movement with his 
hand, his foot pushed back the covers and his entire 
body writhed; he rubbed his eyes, stretched out his 
arms and, then, his half-open eyes fixed themselves 
upon me. 

He smiled on me as he murmured very low, so 
low that I held my breath to catch the tones of his 
baby-music : 

“ Dood morn’n, papa ! ” 

“ Good morning, my little man ; you slept well last 
night, did you ? ” 

Then we held out our arms to each other, and 
embraced like two old comrades. 

And then the prattling commenced. He rattled on 

15 


244 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


as the larks sing at sunrise, and his chattering was 
interminable. 

He told me his dreams, pausing after every phrase 
to ask for his panado “ with lots of butter in it ! ” And 
when this good, steaming panado arrived, what laugh- 
ter, what joy ; how he sprang towards it as he grasped 
the curtains for support ; his eye was all the brighter 
for the tear that stood in the corner, and the chattering 
recommenced. 

Sometimes, he would come to surprise me in bed, 
and, when I pretended to be asleep, would pull my 
beard and shout in my ear. Then I feigned to be ter- 
ribly frightened, and swore to be revenged. This was 
the signal for pillow-fights, barricades of bolsters, etc. 
In token of victory, I would then tickle him, and he, 
the darling, would give vent to frank and involuntary 
peals of laughter known only to innocent, happy child- 
hood. He would draw in his head between his shoul- 
ders, in imitation of his toy tortoise, and menace me 
with his chubby, rosy foot. The skin of his heel was 
so fine that it might have put to the blush the cheeks 
of a young girl. How I covered those dear little feet 
with kisses, as I warmed his long night-gown before 
the fire in the evening ! 

They had forbidden me to undress him, under the 
pretext that I invariably entangled the strings of his 
gown, instead of undoing them. 

All this was charming; but when I was forced to 
arrest the reckless course of his boyish freedom, his 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 245 


little head sank upon his breast, his lips trembled and 
he strove manfully to suppress the flood of sparkling 
tears that gleamed under his long lashes. 

How much courage it requires to resist the tempta- 
tion to calm this storm with a kiss, to console this 
swelling little heart and to dry the tear that heralds 
the torrent ! 

And how touching is the expression of a child’s face 
at this moment. There is so much pain in the warm 
tear that slowly trickles down the cheek, so much suf- 
fering in the contraction of the little muscles and in 
the rising and falling of the beloved breast! 

But all this was long ago. Still the years have not 
been able to efface these sweet souvenirs, and now, 
though my baby is thirty and wears a great moustache, 
when he holds out his large hand, saying, in his bass 
voice : u Good morning, father ! ” it seems to me that 
an echo repeats, in the far distance, those cherished 
words of yore : “ Dood morn’n, papa ! ” 


246 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


CHAPTER Y. 

THE LITTLE BOOTS. 

I N the morning, on leaving my room, I used to see 
his shoes carefully placed beside my own before the 
door. They were little, laced boots, rather worn and 
tarnished by the rough usage to which he subjected 
them. The soles were somewhat thin in places, and a 
little hole menaced the toe of the right foot. The 
strings, loose and limp, hung carelessly to the right and 
left. By the swelling of the leather, I could easily 
recognize the position occupied by his great and 
little toes, and all the accustomed movements of his 
foot had left their traces either in deep or almost 
imperceptible indentations. 

Why has memory clung to all this? I really know 
not, but I can still see my dear boy’s boots ambitiously 
placed by my own— ^two grains of sand beside two 
paving stones,] a gold-finch in company with an ele- 
phant ! They were his “ every-day” boots; his play 
companions, with which he traversed his sand-moun- 
tains and explored the depths of the neighboring pools 
of water. Their existence was so devoted to and 
partook so much of his own that something of himself 
seemed to have been transferred to them : to me they 
appeared to possess a peculiar physiognomy ; I felt that 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 247 


an invisible bond attached them to him, and I could 
not look upon their still undecided form, so comically 
graceful, without thinking of their master and avowing 
that they resembled him. 

Everything that comes in contact with babies grows 
a little babyish also, and becomes characterized by that 
awkward grace peculiar to them. 

Beside these laughing, gay, good-humored little 
boots, demanding but to scour the fields, my own 
appeared monstrous, heavy, gross and absurd, with 
their gigantic heels. Looking upon them, as they 
stood there, with heavy, undeceived aspect, one could 
not but feel that for them life was grave, the road long 
and the burden to be borne altogether serious. 

The contrast was marked and the lesson profound. 
I used to approach these tiny boots very gentlj', in 
order not to wake the little man who still slept soundly 
in the adjoining chamber. I used to tap them, turn 
them over and over as I examined them on all sides, 
and I felt a delicious smile mount from my heart to my 
lips. The old glove, perfumed with violet, which I have 
so long kept hidden in the most secret depths of my 
drawer, never filled my soul with so sweet an emotion. 

Paternal love is not a passing affection cast upon the 
winds; it has its follies and its weakness — it is either 
puerile or sublime. It never analyzes itself and never 
seeks to explain its emotions: it makes itself felt; and 
I allowed myself to drift with its delicious current. 

Let the papa who is without weakness cast the first 
stone at me — the mammas will avenge me. 


248 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

Remember that this little, laced boot recalled to my 
mind a tiny, dimpled foot, to which were attached a 
thousand cherished souvenirs. 

I can still'see my dear boy sitting upon my knee as 
I cut his finger nails ; how he struggled and pulled my 
beard, laughing in spite of himself, for he was ticklish. 

I can still see him when, in the evening, beside the 
bright, warm fire, 1 removed his little stockings. How 
delightful it was! 

I used to say : “ One — two — ” And he, enveloped 

in his vast night-gown, his hands lost in the sleeves, 
which were by far too long, with sparkling eyes and 
ready to burst out laughing, awaited the glorious 
three ! 

At length, after a thousand delays, after a thousand 
attempts at teasing which excited his impatience and 
gave me an opportunity to steal five or six kisses, I 
cried : “ Three ! ” 

The stocking flew to the further end of the room. 
Then it was a veritable pleasure: he threw himself back 
into my arms, and his bare legs cleft the air. From his 
wide-open mouth, in which I could see two rows of 
brilliant little pearls, escaped a cascade of hearty 
and sonorous laughter. 

His mother, who laughed also, would say to him, 
after an instant or two : 

“ Come, baby ; come, my angel ; you will catch cold ! 
Hold him ! Will you be quiet, little wretch ! ” 

Then she would wish to scold him, but could not 


MONSIEUR, MADAME ANI) THE BABF. 249 


suppress the unmistakable smile upon her lips. And 
who could have looked serious in the presence of that 
flaxen head of hair, of those rosy cheeks, flushed and 
happy, and of those babylips that opened but to vent 
his little heart in peals of merry laughter, as he 
bounded upon my knee ? 

My wife turned towards me, saying: 

“ He is intolerable ! Great heavens ! what a child !” 
But I understood very well that she meant: “Look 
how pretty, how healthy and how happ\ r he is, our little 
man, our darling baby ! ” 

And in truth he was adorable ; at least, I thought 
so ! 

I was wise enough — I may say it now that my hair 
is white — not to let pass a single one of those joyful 
moments without enjoying it amply; and, truly, I did 
well. Let us pit } 7 those fathers who know not how to 
be papas as often as possible, who never roll upon the 
carpet, never play at hide-and-seek, never imitate the 
barking of dogs or the roaring of lions, never bite with 
all their might without doing harm, or hide behind 
the arm-chair, taking care the while to let themselves 
be seen ! 

Let us sincerely pity those poor unfortunate ones ! 
These are not only childish and agreeable pastimes 
that they neglect, they are real joys, delicious pleas- 
ures ; they are trifles that, taken together, compose 
that happiness which so many persons slander and 
accuse of existing only in the imagination, because 


250 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


they expect it to fall from heaven in the form of an 
ingot when it is beneath our very feet, in pieces which 
need only to be gathered up. Let us then gather these 
little fragments, and learn to drop our continual cry of 
complaint; every day brings its bread and portion of 
happiness ! 

Let us walk slowly, with our eyes, now and then, 
fixed upon the ground ; let us look around and peer 
into the little corners ; it is there that Providence hides 
the treasures ! 

I have always laughed at those persons who go 
through life with the reins slackened, the nostrils 
dilated and the eyes fastened upon the horizon. It 
seems that the present burns their feet, and if you say 
to them : “ Stop an instant, let your feet tread upon 

the earth, and take a glass of this good old wine ; let 
us chat awhile, smile a second and embrace our 
children ! ” they reply : “ Impossible ; we are awaited 

down there. Down there, we shall chat; down there, 
we shall drink delicious wine ; down there, we shall 
give ourselves up to paternal tenderness ; down there, 
we shall be happy ! ” And when they have arrived 
down there, breathless and broken, when they cry out, 
claiming the reward of their fatigues, the present 
laughs under her spectacles, saying : “ Gentlemen, the 
safe is locked up ! ” 

The future promises, but the present pays, and we 
must cultivate the acquaintance of the cashier who 
holds the keys of the safe 1 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 251 


Why imagine that we are the dupes of Providence? 

Do you suppose that this good Providence has 
sufficient leisure to serve each one of us with perfect 
happiness, deliciously cooked, already cut and prepared 
upon a plate of gold, and, moreover, to tickle our ears 
with sweet strains of music during the repast? A great 
many persons do expect it, however ! 

We must be reasonable, roll up our sleeves, cook our 
own food and not expect heaven to make our pot boil. 

I thought of all this, in the evening, when my boy 
lay in m y arms and his regular, moist breath came 
against my hand. I thought of all the happy moments 
which I already owed to the little man, and I was 
thankful to him for them. 

44 How simple it is,” said I to myself, 44 to be happy — 
and what a strange idea it is to seek this happiness in 
China ! ” 

My wife entertained the same opinion, and we re- 
mained hours at a time before the bright fire, speaking 
of that of which our hearts were full. 

44 Do you not perceive, my dear,” she often said, 
‘‘that your love is of an entirely different nature from 
mine? Papas calculate. Their affection is like a trade. 
They never love their children well until their egotism 
is flattered. There is something of the proprietor in 
the papa. You can analyze your paternal affection, 
discover its causes and say: 4 1 love my child 
because it is thus and thus.’ For the mamma, this 
analysis is an impossibility. She does not love her 


252 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


child because it is pretty or ugly, intelligent or absurd, 
because it resembles her or does not resemble her, or 
because it has her gestures and tastes or does not have 
them. She loves it because she cannot do otherwise ; 
with her, it is a necessity. Maternal love is an innate 
feeling in woman. In men, paternal love is the result 
of circumstances. With her, it is an instinct; with 
him, it is an involuntary calculation, but, at the same 
time, the result of various other feelings ! ” 

“ Oh ! very well,” 1 replied ; “speak your mind. We 
have neither heart nor soul, we men; we are blood- 
thirsty cannibals. Terrible sentiments, those ! ” And 
I plunged the poker into the fire with a violence that 
caused the sparks to fly in every direction. 

And yet I could not but acknowledge that my wife 
was right. When a child makes its entrance into the 
world, the mother’s affection cannot be compared to 
that of the father. With her, it is already love. It 
seems that she has known her darling a long time. 
She seems to say: “It is he.” She takes him to her 
without embarrassment, her gestures are easy and 
unconstrained, and, folded in her arms, the baby finds 
a place exactly to his measure — a soft, warm nest made 
expressly for him, in which he sleeps in happiness. It 
really seems as if woman had served a mysterious 
apprenticeship to maternity. Men, on the contrary, 
are plunged into deep trouble on the birth of an infant. 
The first cry of the baby touches them ; but there is 
more astonishment than love in this emotion. The 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 253 


father’s affection is not yet born. His heart has need 
of reflecting upon and habituating itself to this 
tenderness which is entirely new to him. 

An apprenticeship must be served to the art of being 
a papa ; there is none to that of being a mamma. 

If the father is awkward in loving his new-born 
baby, we must acknowledge that he is none the less 
awkward in handling it. 

Trembling and with a thousand contortions, a 
thousand efforts, he succeeds in raising this insignifi- 
cant weight. He is afraid of breaking the puppet; 
his puppetship is aware of the fact and brawls 
accordingly. He exerts more muscular force in rais- 
ing this child, poor man, than would be necessary to 
shatter his front-door. If he kiss it, his beard pricks 
its face; if he touch it, his fingers hurt the delicate 
being. He has the air of a bear attempting to thread 
a needle ! 

And yet, this little baby must gain the affection of 
its poor father, who, at first, meets only with misad- 
ventures; it must win him, enchant him, cause him to 
conceive a love for his position, and not force him to 
endure his role of conscript too long ! 

Nature has provided for this, and the papa is 
advanced to the rank of corporal the day his baby 
stammers its first syllables. 

And how sweet is this first effort to speak, and how 
admirably chosen, how well calculated to touch the 
heart of the father is the first word : papa ! Is it 


254 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


strange that the very first word of a human being 
expresses precisely the most profound and tender of 
all feelings? 

It, it not touching to see this little being find, without 
assistance, that one word which must surely gain the 
affection of him of whom it has the greatest need? — 
that word which says: “I am your own; love me, 
give me a place in your heart, stretch out your arms to 
me; you see that I know nothing as yet; I have just 
landed in the world, and think of you ahead}' ; I am 
one of your family, I shall eat of your food and bear 
your name — pa — pa — pa — pa.” 

He has found at once the most delicate of all 
flatteries, the sweetest of all affections. He enters the 
world with a master-stroke. 

Ah! the beloved darling! Pa — pa — pa — pa. lean 
still hear his hesitating little voice and still see his tiny 
red lips rise and fall. We were on our knees, in a 
circle around him, and even then we towered above 
him like giants. We said to him : “ Say that again, 

little man, say that again ! Where is your papa?” 

And he, cheered by the bright faces around him, 
turned his eyes towards me and held out his little arms. 

Oh ! how I embraced the darling. My voice was 
choked with tears. 

• From this moment I was a papa, seriously a papa! 

I had been baptized ! 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 255 


CHAPTER VI. 

BABIES AND PAPAS. 

W HEN the baby has reached the age of three or 
four years, when his sex becomes apparent in 
his gestures, his tastes and his eyes, when he shatters 
his wooden horses, disembowels his drumnpers, blows 
his trumpets, breaks the castors and evinces a noisy 
hostility to everything in the shape of dishes — when, 
in a word, he shows himself to be a boy — it is then 
that the father’s affection for his son assumes the 
aspect of veritable love. He feels himself seized upon 
by a desire for a special affection, of which the sweet- 
est souvenirs of his past life can convey no adequate 
idea. It is a deep-seated feeling, the numberless roots 
of which enwrap the heart and penetrate its innermost 
recesses. Faults or virtues, these roots penetrate the 
heart and nourish themselves upon it. Hence we find 
in paternal tenderness all the weakness and all the 
grandeur of humanity. Vanity, abnegation, pride and 
disinterestedness are there united, and the man in his 
entirety appears in the papa. 

The day the infant becomes a mirror in which are 
reflected all the father’s features, the papa’s heart is 
moved and trembles. Life is divided; he is no longer 
one, but one and a half; he feels his importance 


256 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 

increase and, in the future of this little being who 
belongs to him, he reconstructs his past. He revives 
and is born again in his offspring. He says to himself: 
“ I will spare him such and such a chagrin which I 
experienced ; I will remove from his path such and 
such a stone that caused me to stumble ; I will show 
him the road that leads to happiness, and he shall owe 
all to me. He shall, thanks to me, be full of charms 
and talent.” He gives his boy, in advance, all that he 
has never had, and, with his son’s future laurels, 
arranges a little crown for himself. 

Human weakness! No doubt; but what of that, if 
the feeling produced by this weakness is the strongest 
and purest of all ! Should we be condemned for being 
generous through egotism — for devoting ourselves to 
the happiness of others in the hope of thereby being 
made happy ourselves? 

But the vibrating chord in the father’s breast is 
vanity. Say to a papa : 

“Heavens! how much your son resembles you!” 
Your remark will be well received. He will hesitate 
a moment to say yes, poor man, but I defy him not to 
smile. He will reply: 

“Perhaps — Ah! you think so? Well, yes; his 
profile is like mine.” 

But do not be deceived if he speak in this man- 
ner: he expects you to be astonished and to reply, 
emphatically: 

“Why, my dear fellow, the child is your very 
image ! ” 


MONSIEUR, MADAM B AND THE BABY. 257 

Then he is happy, and -his happiness is easily 
explained. Is not this resemblance a visible bond 
between himself and his child ? Is it not his title of 
possession, a proof of his rights? 

To this physical resemblance soon succeeds a moral 
resemblance, and one that is very differently charming. 
The papa is moved to tears upon the recognition of the 
first efforts of this little intelligence to grasp his ideas. 
It accepts them and nourishes itself upon them, but 
without question, without examination. Little by little 
are developed in the child the father’s tastes, habits 
and bearing. He imitates his coarse voice in order to 
be like papa, asks for his braces, sighs before his huge 
boots and sits in admiration before his hat. He pro- 
tects mamma during her promenade, scolds the big 
dog although it fills him with fear — and all this to be 
like papa. Have you never observed your boy as he 
sits at table, his large eyes fixed upon you, his mouth 
open and his spoon in his hand? He is studying your 
visage and copying his model with an expression of 
astonishment and respect that baffles description. Lis- 
ten to his little prattling; it is as rambling as his mind 
— he says : 

“ When I shall have grown to be as large as papa, I 
shall have a moustache and a cane like him ; I shall 
not be afraid at night, because it is very foolish to be 
afraid when one is a man like papa ; and then I will 
.^say by thunder — for I shall be big ! ” 

“ Baby ! What are you talking about, Monsieur 
Baby?” 


258 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


“Why, I am only talking like papa ! ” 

Could a mirror be more faithful? For him, you are 
an ideal, an end, the type of all that is great, strong, 
beautiful and intelligent. 

Very often, he deceives himself, the dear little 
fellow; but his error is all the more charming for being 
sincere, all the more delicious because you feel your- 
self unworthy of so pure an admiration ; and you con- 
sole yourself with the thought that he is unconscious 
of your imperfections. 

The faults of children are almost always the result 
of impressions made by fathers ; they are the conse- 
quence of a too faithful imitation. Should we warn 
them? Yes, doubtless; but what moral courage must 
this poor man possess, I ask you, to banish the illusions 
of his baby, to shatter, with a single word, the inno- 
cent_confidence of his admirer, to say, frankly : “ My 

child, I am imperfect ; I am full of faults which you 
must avoid ! ” 

This species of devotion of the child to its father 
reminds me of a charming expression employed by one 
of my little companions. On crossing the street, the 
little fellow perceived a policeman ; he examined him 
respectfully, and, turning to me, after a moment of 
reflection: “Monsieur,” said he, with an air of con- 
viction : “ Papa is stronger than all the policemen, is 

he not?” 

Had I replied that he was not, our friendly relations 
would have ended then and there. 


monsieur, madame and the baby. 259 


Is it not charming? 

We may positively say: As is the baby, so is the 
papa. Our life is the threshold of his. It is through 
our eyes that he first sees everything. 

Take advantage, young fathers, of your dear baby’s 
first moments of candor ; seek to enter his little heart 
while it is yet open, stamp your love and likeness there 
so indelibly that, when he is old enough to judge of 
your actions, his affection for you will be too deep to 
admit of a severe judgment and of his being no 
longer your own. Gain his affection and you will be 
compensated for your trouble. 

To be loved all your life by a being whom you 
love! — that is the problem towards the solution of 
which all your efforts should tend. To make yourself 
beloved is to amass treasures of happiness for the 
coming winter. Each year will rob you of a particle 
of life and contract the circle of interests and pleasures 
in which you live ; little by little, your mind will lose 
its vigor and demand repose, and, in proportion as you 
live less in the mind, you will live more in the heart. 
The affection of others, which at first was but an 
agreeable adjunct, will become a necessity, and, what- 
ever } 7 ou may have been, statesmen or artists, soldiers 
or bankers, when your hair is white you will be only 
papas ! 

But filial love does not spring into being, like the 
fungus, in a single night. The voice of the blood is 
more poetic than real. The affection of children is 
16 


260 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


gained by being merited ; it is a consequence, not a 
cause, and gratitude is the commencement of it. 
Therefore, your baby must be grateful, cost what it 
may. Do not deceive yourself with the thought that 
he will be thankful to you for your solicitude, for your 
dreams of his future, for the expenses of his infancy 
which you have paid, or for the superb inheritance 
you are preparing for him ; such gratitude requires a 
calculation altogether too complicated for his little 
mind, and is, moreover, based upon social ideas as yet 
altogether foreign to him. He will not be thankful 
to you for the supreme affection you entertain for 
him, but do not be surprised and call this ingratitude ! 
You must, first of all, lead him to comprehend your 
affection, to appreciate and judge it, before responding 
to it; he must know his notes before he can charm 
your ears with delicious harmonies. 

The little fellow’s gratitude will be, at first, but an 
egotistic, natural and plain calculation. If you have 
made him laugh or amused him, he will wish to recom- 
mence and -will hold out his little arms to you, crying: 
“ Again ! ” The recollection of the pleasures you 
have afforded him will impress itself deeply upon his 
little mind, and he will very soon think : “ No one 

amuses me as much as papa; it is he who throws me 
into the air, plays hide-and-seek with me and tells me 
pretty stories ! ” And, little by little, gratitude will 
be born in him, as thanks rise to the lips of one whom 
we have made happy. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 261 


Therefore, learn the art of amusing your baby : imi- 
tate the crowing of the cock ; roll with him upon the 
floor; reply as best you can to his thousand questions 
that are but the echoes of his endless dreams; let him 
pull your beard and do not be afraid to play cuckoo in 
the corners. There is affection in all this, but also 
cunning; and good King Henry did not give the lie to 
his subtile policy when lie crawled on all fours upon 
his carpet. 

Your paternal authority will, doubtless, thereby 
lose its austere prestige, but you will gain by it that 
deep and lasting influence yielded by affection. Your 
baby will fear you less, but he will love you more. 
Where then is the harm ? 

Fear nothing; become his comrade in some degree, 
that you may remain his friend. Hide your paternal 
authority as the detective hides his badge, ask kindly 
that which you might demand without circumlocution, 
and expect everything of his heart, if you have been 
wise enough to gain its love. Carefully avoid those 
harsh terms, discipline, passive obedience and command ; 
let his submission bear lightly upon him and his obe- 
dience resemble tenderness. Renounce the silly 
pleasure of imposing your caprices upon him and of 
giving orders for the sake of proving your infallibility. 

Children possess a keenness of judgment and a deli- 
cacy of impression incredible to those who have not 
studied their characters. Justice and equity are easily 
born in their minds, for they are, above all things, abso- 
lutely logical. Take advantage of all this. There are 


262 MONS/EUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 


unjust and harsh words that engrave themselves at the 
bottom of a child’s heart and remain there his whole 
life long. Remember there is in your baby that which 
will some day be a man, whose love will be the light of 
your old age ; respect him, that he may respect you, 
and rest assured that not one seed, thrown into this 
little heart, will fail to produce its fruit. 

But there are unmanageable children, I hear you say, 
children who rebel even in the cradle. Are you alto- 
gether certain that the first word they heard in life was 
not the cause of their evil inclinations? Revolt is 
always preceded by awkward oppression — I do not 
wish to believe in innate vice. In the midst of evil 
instincts, there is always one good one, at least, that 
may be used as an effective weapon against all the rest. 
This requires an extreme tenderness, I acknowledge, 
and, moreover, perfect tact and boundless confidence; 
but is not the recompense sweet? To conclude, I 
believe that a father’s first kiss, his first look and his 
first caresses have an untold influence upon the life of 
his offspring. 

To love is well. To know how to love is everj'thing. 

No papa can pass a throng of these little fellows 
without being touched and loving them. Dirty and 
ragged or carefully dressed, running along the hot road 
and wallowing in the dust or jumping the rope in the 
gardens of the Tuileries, paddling among the half- 
feathered ducklings that cry quack, quack, or making 
sand mountains around sprightly mammas, the dear 
babies are adorable. All have the same grace, the 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 2G3 


same embarrassed gestures, the same comical serious- 
ness, the same candor and the same indifference as to 
the effect produced; in short, the same charm, that 
charm which we call childhood, and which no one can 
understand without loving it; a charm difficult to 
define, but one that is found in all nature, from the 
half-open flower, from the dawning day, to the babe 
that has just made its entrance into life. 

The baby is by no means an incomplete being, an 
unfinished sketch — it is a man. Look at it more 
closely, follow each one of its movements; they will 
reveal to you a logical progress of ideas and a marvel- 
lous power of imagination to be found in no other 
stage of life. There is more real poetry in the minds 
of these little darlings than in twenty epic poems. 
Unaccustomed as they are to the world, they are in a 
state of continual surprise ; yet in vigor and aptitude, 
these fresh, innocent little intelligences have no equals; 
how sensible they are to the slightest impressions, and 
how readily they break their way through the^Jo they*, 
wonderful unknown ! 

And what work they accomplish in a few months! 
They perceive sounds, classify them and understand 
that certain sounds are words and that these words are 
thoughts ; they discover, without assistance, the mean- 
ing of everything, distinguish the true from the false, 
the real from the imaginary ; they correct, by observa- 
tion, the errors of their too ardent imaginations, 
unravel a chaos; and, during this titanic labor, loosen 
the tongue, strengthen their tottering limbs and, in 


264 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


one word, render themselves men. If there ever was 
a curious spectacle, it is that of this tiny being march- 
ing to the conquest of the world ! As yet, he knows 
neither fear nor doubt, and opens his little heart in all 
its fulness. There is a Don Quixote in the baby. 
He is as comical as the great knight, but has also his 
sublime aspects. 

Let us not laugh too heartily at the hesitations, the 
numberless gropings and the unheard-of follies of this 
budding mind that soars, on the wings of a butterfly, 
into the passing clouds, and for which the grains of 
sand are mountains— a mind that comprehends the 
twittering of birds, and for which flowers have 
thoughts and puppets souls. Moreover, does not 
this little imagination indulge in dreams of that far 
distant land where the trees are of sugar, the fields of 
chocolate and the rivers of sirup? Does it not look 
upon Father Punch and Mother Judy as powerful per- 
sonages of undoubted reality, who people the silence 
and animate the night? Let us not laugh too heartily 
at this little darling. His life is a dream, and the 
name of his errors is poesy ! 

You will find this touching poes}' in the infancy of 
man, and you will find it also in the infancy of nations. 
It is the same in both cases. There are, in the one as 
in the other, the same need of idealization and the 
same tendency to personify the unknown. Indeed, we 
may venture the assertion that between Punch and 
Jupiter, between Judy and Venus, there is not the 
difference of the breadth of a hair! 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 265 


CHAPTER VII 


FIRST BREECHES 


TI^HE supreme desire of the child is to become a man. 


X But the first symptom of virility, the first serious 
step made in the voyage of life is marked by the use 
of breeches. 

The first breeches are an event which papa desires 



and which mamma fears. To the mother they seem 
the commencement of abandonment. It is with a tear 
in her eye that she sees the long clothes thrown aside 
forever. “ Alas ! ” she sighs, “ and are the first days of 
infancy past? Already my r61e is well nigh played! 
He is about to develop new tastes and new desires ; 
even now he is no longer my own ; his individuality is 
apparent — he is somebody — he is a boy ! ” 

On the other hand, the father is delighted. He 
laughs beneath his moustache, as he looks upon the 
tiny calves that project from the pantaloons, and pats 
the little body, the outline of which is so clearly defined 
by the new garment. “ How well the rascal is built ! ” 
he sa} r s to himself. “ Like me, he will have broad 
shoulders and firm hips. How manfully he puts down 
his little foot ! ” He would be but too well pleased to 
see him in high boots ; he is almost tempted to buy the 
little fellow spurs. He begins to perceive something 


266 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


of himself in this being who is his own flesh and 
blood; he looks upon him with different eyes and, 
for the first time, finds an extreme charm in calling 
him “my boy ! ” 

As to the baby, he is giddy, glorious and triumphant, 
although his legs and arms are somewhat embarrassed, 
and, be it said without any wish to offend him, he bears 
a rather striking resemblance to those little poodles that 
have been clipped on the approach of summer. That 
which troubles the poor little man most is his past. 
How many serious men are tortured by the same thing! 
He understands very well that breeches bring obliga- 
tions with them ; that he must now assume a different 
bearing, cultivate new tastes and speak in a new tone 
of voice ; he begins to study the movements of his 
father, who is by no means displeased thereby; he 
awkwardly attempts masculine gestures; and this 
struggle between his past and present renders his bear- 
ing, for a time, excessively ludicrous. He is pursued 
by the phantom of his petticoats, and this phantom 
enrages him. 

First breeches, how I love you ! for you are a faithful 
friend, presenting at every step in life yourself and 
your train of sweet recollections. Are you not the 
living image of the new illusions that flatter our 
vanity? You, my good officer, who still measure your 
moustache in the mirror and have just donned your 
epaulets and gilded belt, for the first time, tell me 
what are your sensations when, on descending the stair- 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 267 


} r ou hear the scabbard of your sword beating tic, 
toe, tac on the steps ! And, again, what are your sen- 
sations when, belted, combed and booted, your elbows 
projecting and your cap on your ear, you find yourself 
in the midst of the busy throng in the wide street, and, 
borne by an irresistible force towards the apothecary’s 
windows, you contemplate your reflection in the large, 
colored bottles? Will you dare to say that you have 
never stopped before these bottles ? 

First breeches, my dear Lieutenant, first breeches! 

You will again recognize the joyful breeches, when 
you are advanced to the dignity of captain and deco- 
rated. And, later, when you are an old grumbler with 
a white moustache and take to yourself a young com- 
panion to rejuvenate your old age, you will wear these 
beloved first breeches once more ! 

But the day j^ou have discarded them forever, my 
good officer, ah ! that day you will be of very small 
account, for all the joys of life are concentrated in this 
precious garment. Existence itself is nothing more 
than this: to don the first breeches, take them off, 
draw them on again, and die looking at them. 

Is it then true that most of our joys have no more 
serious foundation than those of children? Are we 
really so innocent? Good heavens! yes, Monsieur; 
we are of a simplicity beyond belief. We never 
entirely rid ourselves of our swaddling-clothes ; some- 
thing of them always clings to us. There is something 
of the baby in every one of us, or, to express it more 
plainly, we are nothing but grown-up babies. 


268 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


Do you see that young lawyer, slowly promenading 
in the hall ? He is cleanly shaven ; beneath the ample 
folds of his new robe is hidden a mountain of docu- 
ments, and on his head, full of mighty thoughts, is 
placed a jaunty hat which he bought yesterday and 
which he has coquettishly indented with a stroke of his 
hand. This young man is happy; in the midst of the 
general tumult, he distinguishes the echo of his foot- 
steps, and the sonorous clatter of his boots sounds to 
him like the music of Notre-Dame. In a few moments, 
he will find a pretext for descending the great stair- 
way and crossing the court-yard in full costume. You 
may rest assured that he will not remove his profes- 
sional dress before going to dinner. How much joy 
there is beneath those five metres of black lustring, 
how much happiness beneath that ugly cloth stretched 
over pasteboard ! 

First breeches, my dear advocate, first breeches ! 

And you, Madame, how much pleasure do you not 
find in donning, every season, the garments dictated by 
the caprice of fashion ? Do not say, I beseech you, that 
this pleasure is a secondary consideration, for these 
garments have an absolute influence upon your humor 
and character. Why, I ask you, did you discover so 
much irresistible logic and persuasive eloquence in the 
sermon of the reverend Father Paul ? Why did you 
weep on leaving church and kiss your husband as you 
entered the house ? You know better than I, Madame, 
that you wore your coquettish little, yellow bonnet, 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 269 


that morning, and that your pretty face is irresistibly 
charming beneath these delicate shades of satin. These 
impressions cannot be explained, but they are, never- 
theless, invincible ; there is a little childishness in all 
this, you will acknowledge, but a childishness one can- 
not thrust aside — as a proof of which, recollect, if you 
please, that, on going to the church of Saint-Thomas, 
the other evening, to hear the sermon of the reverend 
Father Nicolas, one of our most brilliant lights, you 
experienced feelings of a ver} r different nature ; a gen- 
eral discontent, various doubts and a nervous irrita- 
bility seized upon you at each phrase of the orator; 
your soul was not content ; you left the church with 
an uneasy step, suffering from a severe headache and 
cold feet, and, on getting into your carriage, you even 
forgot yourself so far as to declare that the reverend 
Father Nicolas possessed not the remotest idea of 
eloquence. Your coachman overheard the remark. 
Finally, on entering your house, you thought your par- 
lor deplorably small and your husband miserably stout. 

And why this train of disagreeable impressions, I 
ask you again? If you will have the kindness to tax 
your memory for an instant, dear Madame, you will 
recollect that, on that evening, you wore, for the first 
time, your horrible little violet bonnet, which was such 
a complete failure ! 

First breeches, my dear Madame, first breeches! 

Do you wish a final example ? Observe Monsieur 
your husband. Yesterday, he left the house in a most 


270 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


disagreeable mood — his breakfast did not suit him at 
all — but, about seven o’clock in the evening, he 
returned from the Chamber joyous, contented, a smile 
upon his lips and good humor beaming in his eyes. 
He kissed you warmly upon the forehead, threw with 
an easy gesture a bundle of pamphlets and documents 
upon the stand, sat down at table, found the soup deli- 
cious and devoured his supper with unaccustomed 
relish. “What can be the matter with my husband?” 
3 t ou said. Allow me to explain : your husband spoke 
yesterday for the first time. He said (the assembly 
was greatly animated, for an infernal question was 
being elucidated on the left) — he said (raising his voice 
above the din, and striking his paper-cutter upon his 
desk) — he said: “But we cannot hfear!” And as 
these words were received with general approbation, 
while on all sides arose cries of: “ Well said! — capital! 
You are right! — Good ! — Very good ! ” he gave his idea 
a more parliamentary form and added : “ The voice of 
the honorable orator does not reach us ! ” 

It was a matter of little importance, perhaps, and 
the amendment might have been dispensed with ; but, 
at all events, it was a step forward — in truth, it was a 
triumph, for Monsieur your husband, during the last 
six years, has habitually postponed from day to day 
his first speech in the Chamber. Hence you have a 
happy deputy, Madame, a deputy who has just drawn 
on his first breeches ! 

What matter whether the cause be trifling or serious, 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 271 


if the blood circulates more rapidly, if one feels happy, 
or if one is proud of himself? To win a great victory 
or to put on a new bonnet is about the same thing, 
dear Madame, if the bonnet cause as much joy as the 
crown of laurels ! 

Therefore, let us not laugh too heartily at the baby, 
if his first breeches intoxicate him with joy, or, if, in 
wearing them, he imagines his shadow to be much 
longer and the trees less gigantic ! He is beginning 
to be a man, the dear child ; nothing more ! 

And of how many things has not humanity been 
vain, since the world has been a world? Under the 
Cavalier King, one was proud of his nose; in the “great 
century,” one was proud of his periwig, and, later, of 
his appetite and corpulence. One is vain of his wife, 
of his idleness, of his genius, of his stupidity, of the 
beard on his chin, of the cravat about his neck and of 
the hump on his back ! 




' ) 


272 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

COUNTRY BABIES, DUCKLINGS AND LITTLE CHICKENS. 

I LOVE the babies that run beneath the grand old 
trees in the gardens of the Tuileries; I love them 
well, the pretty little baby-girls with their long, golden 
hair, their tightly drawn stockings and intractable crino- 
lines. I love to follow with the eye all the movements 
of these sprightly dressed little puppets, already co- 
quettes and pouting as they cling to their mammas’ 
skirts. It seems to me that I can perceive in them a 
thousand charming faults, as yet but in the bud. But 
all these little women and men in miniature appear to 
me like adorable monstrosities, as they stand there in 
the shade, exchanging postage stamps and chatting 
about the fashions ! 

I love them as I love a bunch of delicious grapes in 
February, or a plate of green peas in December. 

In the realm of babies, my preferred friend is the 
baby of the fields that runs barefooted and ragged along 
the dusty road or seeks blackbirds’ and chaffinches’ 
nests on the outskirts of the wood. I adore his great 
black eyes that stare at you in astonishment from 
behind his unkempt locks ; I adore his firm little flesh 
bronzed by the sun, his dark brow hidden beneath a 
mass of refractory hair, his besmeared face and his 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 273 


picturesque breeches that the paternal braces prevent 
from falling to the ground, held by a large metal 
button — the gift of a gendarme. 

Ah! the fine breeches! — the legs are not long 
enough, to be sure, but as to the rest, what amplitude ! 
The little savage might hide his entire body in this 
immense rest, through a large rent in which escapes a 
bit of shirt, floating like a flag — I was about to say a 
white flag ! These good breeches preserve souvenirs of 
all the garments of the family : here is a piece of the 
maternal skirt, there a remnant of a yellow vest, and, in 
another spot, a fragment of a blue pocket-handkerchief, 
the whole held together by thread possessing the 
double advantage of being seen from a distance and 
not breaking. 

But beneath this patched garment there is a solid 
little body, and what difference do the garments make 
after all? The baby of the fields is by no means 
coquettish, and when the stage-coach descends the hill 
with a noise of tiny bells and he feels it his duty to 
bound off in pursuit of it, overturn his companions, 
fall with them in the dust and roll in the ditches, 
of what possible use could knee-breeches and a pair of 
silk stockings be to this dear little creature ? 

T love these babies also because they are wild, are 
frightened and scamper away at your approach like a 
troop of playful young rabbits, surprised in the morn- 
ing among the wild thyme. It requires the emploj T - 
ment of a thousand cunning artifices to triumph over 


274 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


their timidity and gain their confidence. But if you 
succeed at last, thanks to your prudence, in getting 
among them, the games cease, the shouts of laughter 
are hushed, and the little troop remain motionless and 
scratch their heads, while every uneasy eye stares at 
you fixedly. This is the delicate moment. 

A harsh word or an ill-chosen gesture may set you 
at odds with them forever, just as a good, frank expres- 
sion, a smile or a caress will speedily achieve their 
conquest. And, believe me, this conquest is worth the 
trouble. 

One of my greatest allurements was this: I drew my 
watch from my fob and looked at it attentively. There- 
upon I perceived that my little audience stretched their 
necks, opened wide their eyes and advanced a step or 
two towards me, and it very often happened that the 
little chickens, ducklings and geese that were idling 
in the grass near by imitated their comrades and 
approached me also. 

Then I placed my watch to my ear, and smiled like 
a man who is being told a secret. 

In the presence of this prpdigy, the little fellows 
could holdout no longer; they regarded one another 
with that cunning, innocent, timid and mocking look 
which must be seen to be understood. They approached 
this time for good and, when I offered my watch to the 
boldest in the throng that he might hear too, he drew 
back in fear, although with a smile upon his lips, 
whereupon the entire troop burst into joyous laughter; 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


275 


the ducklings flapped their wings, the geese hissed 
and the little chickens cried cuik, cuik; they were 
vanquished, one and all. 

How many times have I played this comedy, seated 
in the shade of the old willows that border the little 
stream that sings for joy as it winds its way over the 
white pebbles and among the trembling reeds ! 

The warm sun beamed on the meadow, and around 
us thousands of gay insects filled the air with their 
monotonous buzzing, while the flowers of the field 
swooned upon their stalks, and, in the distance, the 
bluish poplars nodded about the belfry. 

The little throng pressed around me in order to listen 
to the watch, and very soon questions without number 
were asked in chorus amid peals of laughter. They 
inspected my gaiters, plunged their tiny fingers into 
the depths of my pockets and leaned their elbows upon 
my knees ; the ducklings got between my boots and 
the great geese tickled me in the back. 

How one enjoys not frightening beings that every- 
thing causes to tremble ! 

I remained motionless, fearing lest my slightest 
movement might put an end to their joy. I was like a 
child who constructs a card-castle and has arrived at 
the third story. But I regarded all these happy little 
heads clearly defined against the blue sky ; I watched 
the sunbeams making their way through their thickets 
of golden hair, or spreading out like a large golden ecu 
upon their brown little necks. I followed all their 
17 


276 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


awkwardly graceful gestures, and sat down upon the 
grass in order to be in closer proximity to them. If 
some unskilful little chicken stumbled and fell between 
two daisies, I quickly stretched out my hand and set 
it upon its feet. 

And I assure you that my audience thanked me for 
the deed. Love this little world, and one thing will 
impress itself forcibly upon your mind : 

The duckling that quacks at the water’s edge or 
tumbles head over heels into the porringer, the young 
plant that pushes its chilly leaves out of the soil, the 
tiny chickens that trot before the mamma hen, and the 
babies that stumble in the long grass — all these little 
things resemble one another. They are the children 
of Mother Nature, have a common code and a common 
physiognomy; there is about them a comically graceful, 
awkward and tender something that causes one to love 
them at first sight; they are relatives, friends and com- 
rades under the same flag — a pink and white flag that 
we salute when it passes, old graybeards that we are ! 
for it is blessed and is called Childhood ! 

All these babies are plump, supple, feeble, timid and 
downy to the touch as a handful of wadding. Pro- 
tected by cushions of rosy flesh or by a covering of 
soft down, they dash along, tumbling, rolling, shaking 
their little fists in the air or agitating their featherless 
wings. See them spread themselves out pell-mell in 
the sunshine regardless of any distinction of species, 
gorging themselves with milk or poultry feed, and dare 
to say that the } 7 do not resemble each other ! 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 277 


Who knows if all these children of Nature have not 
a common starting-point — if they are not brothers of 
the same principle? 

Who knows if the source of life is not the same? 
Providence animates an oak, a chicken or a man ; but 
who will tell me that these three life-giving breaths 
differ? Who will tell me that the same cause has not 
produced so many different effects? 

Taught by men with green spectacles, we are pleased 
to ticket the beings of this earth ; we arrange them, 
divide them into categories, class them and dispose of 
them, like the careful apothecary who wishes to have 
order among his drugs. It is no trifling matter to 
place each one in its proper drawer, and I have heard 
not unfrequently that certain subjects remain upon the 
counter on account of belonging to two drawers at 
once. 

And, then, who will assure me that these drawers 
exist at all ? Who will assert that the entire creation 
is not one family, the members of which differ in 
trifling nothings, which we, in our ignorance, suppose 
to be everything? 

Have you demonstrated the existence of these 
drawers and compartments ? Have you seen the iron 
bars of these imaginary cages in which you imprison 
the species and the genera ? 

Are there not infinite varieties that escape your 
analysis and are, as it were, the missing link that unites 
in one chain all the various particles of the animated 


278 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

world? Why say: To these eternity — to the others 
nothingness? Why say: This is the slave — that the 
king? Strange hardihood for persons ignorant of so 
much ! 

Man, animal or plant, the being quivers, suffers or 
enjoys, exists, and encloses within itself the trace of 
the same mystery. Who will tell me that this mystery, 
which is everywhere the same, is not the stamp of a 
common parentage, is not the sign of a great law of 
which we are ignorant? 

This is but a dream you will say. But what does 
Science herself do, when the spy-glasses become clouded 
and the compass loses its power? She dreams also — 
she supposes ! 

Let us also suppose, then, that the tree is a man with 
a rough skin, a silent dreamer that loves too, in its own 
fashion, and trembles down to its roots when, at even- 
ing, the warm breezes, charged with the fragrance of 
the fields, whisper in its verdant hair and inundate it 
with kisses. 

No ; I do not accept the hypothesis of a world cre- 
ated expressly for us. Puerile pride that it is, it would 
be absurd if its simplicity did not lend it a certain 
poetry. - 

Man is by no means a goal, a total, an end : he is 
one of the links of that immense chain the two ends of 
which we know nothing about. 

And'is it not consoling to dream that man is not an 
isolated monarch to whom the rest of creation serves 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 279 


as a footstool, that he is not a licensed destroyer, not a 
poor, feeble tyrant protected by arbitrary decrees, but 
rather the necessary note in an infinite harmony— to 
dream that the law of life is the same in all immensity, 
and that it shines upon worlds in the same manner in 
which it shines upon cities and ant-hills — to dream that 
each vibration in our own being is the echo of vibra- 
tions in others — to dream of an unique principle, of a 
primordial axiom — -to think that the universe wraps us 
about as a mother wraps her arms around her infant, 
and to say to one’s self: “I am his and he is mine ; he 
would cease to be but for me, and I without him could 
exist no longer;” in a word, to see nothing save the 
divine unity of laws which cannot but be, where others 
have beheld only sovereign fancy and the caprice of 
an individual ? 

It is a dream ! Perhaps; but I have often dreamed 
it as I watched the village babies rolling upon the 
tender grass amid the ducklings. 


280 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


CHAPTER IX. 


AUTUMN. CABBAGE SOUP AND HEAVY RAINS. , 
RE you acquainted with autumn, dear reader, 



autumn in the open fields with its sudden and 
violent storms, its long sighs, its yellow leaves that 
whirl in the distance, its soft roads, its beautiful sun- 
sets pale as a sick man's smile and its pools of water 
in the highways? Are you acquainted with all this? 

If you have seen all these things, you have not 
remained indifferent to them. One either loves or 
detests them madly. 

I am one of those who love them, and I would give 
two summers for an autumn. I adore the huge flames; 
I love to take refuge by the fireside, with my dog 
between my damp gaiters. I love to see the high 
flames that lick the old andirons and illumine the black 
depths of the chimney. One hears the wind hissing 
in the barn, the great door creak, the watch-dog howl 
and tug at its chain, and, in spite of the noise of the 
, forest that near by roars as it curves its back, one dis- 
tinguishes the lugubrious croakings of a flock of crows 
as they struggle against the tempest. The rain dashes 
against the windows, and one thinks of those without, 
as he stretches his legs towards the tire. One thinks 
of the mariners, of the old doctor in his little gig, the 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABT. 281 


curtains of which flap as the wheels sink into the deep 
ruts and the gray mare neighs against the blast ! One 
thinks of the two gendarmes frorti whose hats the 
water pours in floods ; one can see them shivering, 
bent and wet, as they pass along the path through the 
vineyards, seated on their horses covered by their huge 
blue cloaks. One thinks of the delayed hunter running 
across the plain, pursued by the storm as a criminal by 
punishment, and whistling to his dog, poor beast ! that 
howls in the marshes. 

Unfortunate doctor, unfortunate gendarmes and 
unfortunate hunter ! 

But the door is opened suddenly, and Baby springs 
into the room, crying : 

44 Papa, dinner is ready ! ” 

Poor doctor ! Poor gendarmes ! 

“ What have we for dinner?” 

The cloth was as white as the snow in December, the 
service sparkled in the lamplight, the vapor of the 
soup was engulfed under the lamp-shade and obscured 
the flame as it filled the room with a savory odor of 
cabbage. 

Ah ! poor doctor ! poor gendarmes ! 

The doors were tightly closed and the curtains care- 
fully drawn ; Baby bounded into his high chair, and 
stretched out his little neck for me to tie on his 
bib, crying : 

44 Oh ! how I love cabbage soup ! ” 

And, smiling within n^self, I muttered: 


282 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


“ The rascal has all my tastes ! ” 

Mamma, who had just come in and removed her 
gloves, remarked, radiantly : 

“ I believe there is something in this dish of which 
you are very fond.” 

A pheasant ! I turned instinctively towards the 
buffet, upon which I knew there was a dusty bottle 
of my old Chambertin. 

Pheasant and Chambertin ! Providence created the 
one for the other, and my wife has never separated 
them. 

“ By all the wooden swords, my dear ones, how com- 
fortable we are at home ! ” cried I, laughing heartily. 
“ By all the wooden swords, we are ! ” 

“ By all the tin pistols ! ” added Baby, stretching his 
neck towards the soup. 

And everybody laughed. 

Poor gendarmes ! Poor doctor ! 

Ah ! yes, I love autumn, and my dear boy loves it 
too, not simply because of the pleasure of meeting the 
loved ones by the fireside, but also because of the wild 
storms themselves, the wind and the dead leaves. 
There is a charm in the contemplation of all this. 

How often have my boy and I rambled in the gray 
fields, despite the cold and heavy mists ! 

We were well clothed, and our long boots reached 
to our knees ; I used to take him by the hand, and we 
would stroll where fancy led us. He was only five 
years old then, but he walked like a man. My God ! 
and that was twenty-five years ago ! 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 283 


We would follow the little path, well-nigh hidden 
beneath the damp, black leaves; the great, bare poplars 
trembled in the wind, and through their gray branches 
we could catch, here and there, a glimpse of the distant 
horizon tinged with a fading hue of violet, above which 
hung long bands of cold, dark clouds. Scattered over 
the plain beneath us lay clusters of little houses, with 
their thatched roofs and red chimneys from which 
escaped at intervals curls of bluish smoke that were 
tossed hither and thither by the wind. Baby leaped 
for joy, as he held on to his hat to keep it from blowing 
away, and turned towards me his little eyes bright with 
tears. His cheeks were red with cold, and from the 
end of his nose hung a tiny, transparent pearl, ready to 
fall. But he was joyful, and we strolled beside the wet 
meadows over which spread the swollen streamlets. 
No more reeds, no more water-lilies, no more flowers 
on the banks ! A few stray cows had plunged knee- 
deep in the soaked grass and were slowly pasturing. 

In a hollow beside the huge trunk of an old willow, 
sat two little girls, close together under a great cloak 
which covered them. They were guarding the cows, 
their bare feet in cracked sabots and their chilled little 
faces peeping out from the vast hood. 

From time to time, broad pools of water, in which 
was reflected the leaden sky, barred our path, and we 
paused awhile on the edge of these little ponds shiver- 
ing in the blast to watch the floating leaves. They 
were the last leaves of autumn. We saw them detach 


284 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


themselves from the tops of the great . trees, whirl in 
the air and fall into the pools. I took my little man in 
my arms, and we crossed as best we could. On the 
edge of a dark and empty field lay an overturned 
plough or a forgotten harrow. The leafless grape-vines 
in the vineyard were on the ground, and, not far 
distant, the rough and wet props had been piled in a 
vast heap. 

I recollect that, on one of these autumnal prome- 
nades, we had arrived at the summit of the hill, and 
stood beside the hedges which bordered a deserted road 
which led across an old bridge. Suddenly, the wind 
blew in fury. My boy, nearly suffocated, clung to my 
knees and took refuge under my overcoat. My dog, 
planting itself firmly on its feet, its tail between its 
legs and its ears drooping, stared me piteously in 
the face. 

I turned: the horizon was black and threatening. 
Immense dark clouds hurried towards us, and, on all 
sides, the trees bent beneath the torrents of rain that 
poured from the rumbling monsters overhead. My 
boy trembled and wept in fear ; but to return with him 
in the midst of such a storm was impossible. I, there- 
fore, took shelter behind the hedge near an old willow. 
Having opened my umbrella, I unbuttoned my over- 
coat, bent forward and provided for Baby a snug little 
nook into which he crept forthwith. Then, my dog 
placed itself in front of its playfellow, and, thus 
protected, Baby soon grew cheerful, laughing joyfully 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 285 


as he clasped my knees. I caught a glimpse of his 
smiling face through the opening in my coat, and 
called to him: 

“Well, my little man, are you comfortable ? ” 

“Yes, my dear papa.” 

And I felt his tiny arms about my waist. I was not 
so stout then as I am now; and I perceived very 
clearly that he was thankful for the shelter I afforded 
him, for he raised his little lips to me, through the 
opening in my coat, an<f I bent forward to kiss them. 

“Is it yet raining outside, papa?” 

“ Still a few drops, my boy ; but it is well-nigh over.” 

“Over already ! — and I was so contented in here !” 

Why do all these souvenirs cling to the heart? It is 
foolish, perhaps, to mention these moments of happi- 
ness, but how memory loves to dwell upon them ! 

We returned home, wet and weary, where we 
received a severe scolding. But when evening came, 
when Baby was in bed and when I went to kiss and 
tickle him a little, as I was in the habit of doing, he 
put his little arms around my neck and whispered 
in my ear : 

“ Say, papa, when it rains again we will take another 
walk, won’t we ? ” 


286 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


CHAPTER X. 

HE WOULD HAVE BEEN FORTY YEARS OLD. 
HEN one has witnessed the birth of his child, 



n followed his first steps in life, seen him smile and 
weep, and been called papa by the darling that holds 
out his little arms to be taken up, one imagines that he 
has experienced all the paternal joys, and, as if satiated 
with these sweet daily pleasures, already foresees those 
of the morrow. One grasps at the future and empties 
the cup of the present with quick, huge draughts, 
instead of enjoying its precious contents drop by drop. 
But let Baby be attacked by sickness, and one is 
quickly brought to reason. 

In order to feel the entire power of those bonds 
which attach us to our children, it is necessary to be in 
fear of seeing them severed ; to appreciate the depth 
of a river, we must have been on the point of drowning. 

Call back to your memory the morning when, after 
raising the covers of his little bed, you beheld Baby, 
with pinched and pale features, stretched helplessly 
upon his pillow. His hollow eyes, surrounded by 
rings of deep blue, were half-closed. You encoun- 
tered his gaze which seemed hidden behind a veil ; he 
saw you without a smile. His features were expressive 
of nothing but feebleness and fatigue; he seemed no 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 287 


longer your own child. You wished him good morn- 
ing, but he did not respond. A half-suppressed sigh 
escaped his wan lips and his heavy eyelids drooped. 
You caught his thin, transparent little hands in your 
own : they were feverish and moist, and the nails were 
colorless. Then you pressed a warm kiss upon his tiny 
fingers, but not a movement replied to your tenderness. 

After a moment of silent agony, you turned and saw 
your wife weeping behind you. 

It was at this moment that 3 r ou trembled from head 
to foot, and that a consciousness of approaching mis- 
fortune filled your mind with a terror of which you 
could not rid yourself. Every instant, you returned 
to the bedside of your boy, hoping, perhaps, that your 
eyes had deceived you, or that some miracle had been 
performed. You raised the curtains, but let them fall 
again immediately, for you felt the tears mounting to 
your eyes ; and yet you wished to smile in order to 
force a smile to those thin, pale lips, you sought to 
awake in him a desire for something, no matter what, 
but without success: he remained motionless and ex- 
hausted, not even turning towards you, and indifferent 
to all you said. He seemed a stranger even to you. 

And how r long a time has it required to reduce this 
little being to this condition ? But a few hours. And 
how long a time might it require to close his eyes 
forever? Five minutes, perhaps! 

You know that life in this frail body is held by a 
slender thread. You feel that this little being was not 


288 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


made to suffer, that existence is but a breath, and 
you think: 

“ Suppose this should be his last ! ” 

A moment ago he complained. His complaints have 
increased. It seems as if something surrounded him and 
struggled to tear him from your arms. You approach 
him, and press him upon your breast almost involun- 
tarily as if to give him a little of your own life. His 
bed is moist with the sweat of fever; his lips grow 
paler. His thin, bloodless nostrils dilate and contract 
rapidly ; his mouth is open and he gasps for breath. 
And yet it was this poor little mouth that laughed 
joyfully as it pressed itself upon your own. All 
those joys, those peals of childish laughter, those end- 
less chats, and that past happiness are recalled to your 
mind by this tiny form that lies there struggling for 
breath. You are speechless and your eyes are filled 
with tears. 

Poor man ! Your hands seek his little legs, and you 
are afraid to touch his breast that you have so often 
kissed, lest your fingers encounter that horrible thin- 
ness which you know is there, the contact with which 
would cause you to burst into sobs. 

And, then, at a certain moment, when the sunlight 
inundates the room, your whole being is thrilled by a 
deep moan that seems to be a cry for help. You run 
to him : his features are contracted, and he turns 
towards you, but his eyes can see you no longer. 

All is calm again : the child is motionless, but his 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 289 


hollow cheeks have grown as yellow and transparent 
as the amber beads about his neck. 

The recollection of this moment forever haunts the 
heart that has loved ; and even in old age, when time 
has veiled these sufferings, and other pains and joys 
have come to you, the bed of agony appears to you in 
all its horror, as you sit by the fireside in the evening. 
In the glowing coals you see the sick-room, the bed of 
the lost babe, the table upon which were heaped his 
toys, numbers of labelled bottles and all the arsenal of 
necessities that sickness gathers about that sufferer. 
His little garments, arranged in order upon the chair, 
have waited long, and his worn boots lie neglected in 
the corner. You can even see his finger prints upon 
the door, zig-zags that he made with his pencil upon 
the wall and, near the window, dates and marks of his 
monthly increase in height. You can see him playing, 
running, throwing himself into your arms, and, at the 
same time, you feel his cold, glassy eyes fixed upon 
you, as he lies there in his white winding-sheet sprin- 
kled with holy water ! 

Is it not true, grandmother, that your mind is 
haunted, at times, by these souvenirs, and that your 
eyes fill with tears as you murmur: “He would have 
been forty years old ! ” 

And do we not know, dear old lady, whose heart still 
bleeds, that, hidden in your bureau, just back of your 
trinkets and very near a little bundle of old, yellow 
letters, lies a museum of sacred relics: his last shoes, 


290 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


the comrades of his play-hours, with which he scam- 
pered in the sand the day he complained of being 
chilled ; a few remnants of broken toys ; a branch 
of dried boxwood; a little cap — his last! — carefully 
enveloped in a triple covering; and a thousand trifles 
which for you, poor woman, are the crumbs of your 
broken heart? 

The bonds which unite children to their parents 
loosen. Those which unite parents to their children 
break ! 

On the one hand, it is the past that vanishes — on the 
other, it is the future that is blasted ! 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 291 


CHAPTER XI. 


CONVALESCENCE 



UT, dear reader, forget what I have just said. 


JL) Baby does not wish to quit you ; he does not wish 
to die, poor little being! And should you desire a 
proof of this assertion, cast your eyes upon him for a 
moment and see him smile. 

It is a pale smile that resembles those sunbeams 
which struggle through the clouds at the close of a 
rainy winter. You rather divine it than see it, but it 
suffices to warm your heart. The mist begins to rise ; 
he sees you, hears you, and knows that his papa is near. 
Your child is restored to you. His glance is already 
clearer. Call him gently ! 

He wishes to turn towards you, but he cannot as yet, 
and his only reply is a feeble wave of the hand that 
drops again upon the. covers. 

Wait awhile, poor, impatient father ! To-morrow, 
when he awakes, he will call you papa ! 

And you will feel how it heals your heart-wounds, 
this “ papa ” which resembles a sigh and which, 
although hardly intelligible, is nevertheless a sign of 
returning life. It will seem to you that your child is 
born a second time. 

But he will suffer still, and there will be other crises; 


18 


292 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND TIIE BABY. 

the tempest is not calmed in an instant ; but, then, he 
will be able to rest his head upon your shoulder, as he 
nestles in your arms; there will be more complaints, 
and his eyes and lips will ask your aid. You will be 
united once more, you and your darling boy, and you 
will feel that he suffers less by suffering on your knees. 

You will keep his hand in your own, and, should 
you wish to leave him but for a single instant, he 
will look at you and hold you by the finger. And 
what eloquence there is in this gentle pressure ! Dear 
Monsieur, do you recollect it? 

“ Papa, remain with me ; I am better when you are 
here. When I am alone, I am afraid of illness. Fold 
me in your arms and I shall suffer less ! ” 

The more necessary your protection is to another, 
the greater the pleasure you experience in bestowing 
it. But how sweet it is when he who asks this pro- 
tection is your second self — a being you love more than 
your own life ! Convalescence introduces a new 
infancy, as it were. New surprises, new joys and new 
desires are felt one by one as health returns. But that 
which is most touching is the delicate coaxing of the 
child who still suffers and clings to you ; it is an aban- 
donment, an extreme feebleness that casts him entirely 
upon yourself and implores your help. Never in his 
life has he so much enjoyed your presence; never has 
he so willingly taken refuge in the folds of your wrap- 
per, and never has he listened $o attentively to your 
stories or smiled so cunningly at your excess of gayety. 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 293 

Is it true, as it seems to 3*011, that he never was so 
charming before, or is it simply that the proximity of 
danger has made you attach more value to his caresses, 
and that you count your treasures with all the more 
pleasure for having been on the verge of ruin ? 
****** 

But the little man is again upon his feet. Beat, 
drums ! sound, trumpets ! and you, disemboweled 
horses, quit \ r our hiding-places ! Fill the room with 
floods of your golden light, beautiful sun ! Pour forth 
your songs of joy, sweet birds ! The little king is 
restored to life. Long live the king! 

And you, Monseigneur, come and kiss your papa ! 

But the strangest thing of all is that this crisis 
through which you have just passed has, somehow or 
other, grown dear to you ; you speak of the subject 
continually, } r ou caress it in your thoughts, and, like 
the companions of Aeneas, you seek to increase the 
pleasure of the present by the recollection of the peril 
of the past ! 

“Do you remember,” ) r ou ask of one another, “the 
day when he was so ill ? Do you recall his lifeless 
glance, his wasted arms and his pale lips?” 

“And that morning when the doctor pressed our 
hands as he left the room ? ” 

Baby alone recollects nothing of all this. He has 
but one desire, and that is to gain strength and to have 
his little cheeks plump again. 

“ Papa, is dinner nearly ready ? Tell me, papa ! ” 


294 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABT. 


“ Yes, darling ; it is growing dark — wait a little.” 

“ How long, papa ? ” 

“ Oh ! about twenty minutes, little wolf.” 

“ Twenty minutes — that is rather long ! If I should 
eat twenty chops, would it harm me? But with pota- 
toes, you know, and preserves — and some soup, and a 
piece of cake, and — have we still twenty minutes to 
wait? But tell me, papa, when we have beef with 
tomato sauce — red tomato sauce — ” 

“ Yes, my little man ; what then?” 

“Why beef — a whole beef, papa, is larger than the 
beef we have; why don't they bring in the rest of it? 
I could eat all of it; but, of course, with some bread 
and some beans, and — and — ” 

The little fellow is insatiable when he has his bib 
about his neck, and it is a real pleasure to witness the 
good-will with which he uses his teeth. His bright 
eyes sparkle, his cheeks grow ruddier, and the capacity 
of his stomach is surprising. So busy is he that he 
hardly finds time to laugh between mouthfuls. 

Towards dessert, his ardor decreases, his eyes grow 
more languid, his fingers relax and he becomes drowsy. 

“Mamma,” says he, rubbing his eyes, “please put 
me to bed ! ” ’ 

Baby is decidedly better ! 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 295 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE FAMILY 



l HE intoxication of success and the heat of the 


JL daily struggle separate the father from his family 
or, at least, cause him to be a stranger in his household, 
and he soon finds that the old attractions no longer 
possess their former charm. 

But when misfortune overtakes him and the cold 
winds mock his sighs, he recoils, looks around him for 
some one to sustain him in his hour of weakness, and 
seeks to give birth in his bosom to a feeling that may 
replace the vanished dream. He bends over his child 
and presses the hand of his wife. He seems to beseech 
those two beings to partake of his burden. Seeing 
tears in the eyes of those he loves, his own suffering 
appears diminished. It seems that moral pains have 
the same effect as physical ones. The drowning man 
grasps at the trembling reeds, and the broken-hearted 
father clasps his wife and child to his bosom. He asks 
their assistance, protection and warmth : it is touching 
to see the strongest take refuge in the arms of the 
most feeble, and find courage in their kisses. Children 
recognize all this instinctively, and the deepest emotion 
of which their little hearts are capable is that which 
they experience on seeing their father weep. 


296 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


Recall to }^our mind, dear reader, the most distant 
souvenir of your past — that past which seems all the 
more fair for being so distant. 

Have you never seen your father, on his return at 
evening, sit down by the fireside with tears in his eyes? 
You dared not approach him, at first, notwithstanding 
the sincerity of your sympathy. How great must have 
be^n the unhappiness that caused a father’s tears ! It 
was then that you felt the entire strength of those 
bonds that attached you to this poor man : his misery 
was your misery too, and the shaft that pierced your 
father’s breast pierced your own also. 

And how' well the child understands this solidarity of 
the family of which it is a member ! 

But you, surely, have experienced this. You 
remained silent and sobbing in your little corner and, 
without knowing why, stretched out your arms to your 
first and oldest friend. 

Then he turned and understood you, and his heart 
could no longer contain its grief. Father, mother and 
child clasped one another in a loving embrace ; not one 
word was uttered, but thousands were understood. 

But did you know the cause of this poor man’s 
suffering ? 

Not in the least ! 

And that is why poets have sung of paternal and 
filial affection, and called the family sacred : it is 
because we find in its bosom the very source of mutual 
love, assistance and protection — those feelings which, 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 297 


from time to time, spread themselves over the entire 
ocean of society, but never otherwise than as a feeble 
echo ! 

It is only at long intervals in history that we see a 
people gather together, each man confiding in the 
others and trembling when his neighbor trembles. 

It requires a terrible upheaval to cause a million of 
human beings to clasp hands and understand one 
another by a single glance ; it requires a superhuman 
effort to make of a nation a single family, and cause 
its fireside to extend to its frontiers. 

It requires but a sigh, a complaint or a tear to cause 
a man, a woman and a child to feel that their three 
hearts are one. 

Scoff at marriage, if you will ; it is easily ridiculed. 
All human contracts are faulty, and faults alwaj r s seem 
ludicrous to others than the victims. There are hus- 
bands who have been and are being deceived ; that is 
quite certain. But the first thing we do on seeing a 
man fall, no matter if he break his neck, is to laugh 
heartily. Hence the immense gayet}'' that invariably 
greets Sganarelle ! 

But let us give the matter more serious attention, 
and we will find that, hidden beneath all this misery, 
all this dust of disappointed vanity, all these ridiculous 
errors and comical passions, lies the very pivot of 
society. And we must acknowledge that all this is for 
the best, since family love and protection are not only 
the basis of the world, but also its greatest sources of 
consolation and joy. 


298 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


Honor and respect for the flag, patriotism, and, in 
fact, anything that induces a man to devote his energies 
to the cause of something or somebody that is not him- 
self have their birth directly or indirectly in the bosom 
of the family; and we may say with truth that this 
bosom is the source of those great rivers in which is 
quenched the thirst of the human heart. 

The selfishness of three beings ! you cry. But what 
matter, if this selfishness engender devotion ! 

Do you reproach the butterfly for having been a 
caterpillar ? 

Do not accuse me of indulging in poetic exag- 
geration ! 

The life of a family is very often calm and prosaic ; 
the saucepan that figures in its coat of arms is by no 
means an unmeaning emblem, I acknowledge. Should 
a husband come to me, saying : “ Monsieur, on two 
consecutive days I have fallen asleep by the fireside,” 
I should reply: “You are too indolent, but I under- 
stand you.” 

I understand also that Baby’s trumpet is deafening, 
that his playthings are terribly expensive, that lace 
flounces and zibelline trimmings are more so, that balls 
are tedious and that Madame is occasionally ill-hu- 
mored, silly and exacting; in a word, I understand 
that a man upon whom fortune smiles considers his 
wife and child as impediments in his path ! 

But I shall certainly see this happy man, when his 
brow is wrinkled, when deception falls upon his head 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 299 


like a leaden cap, grasping those impediments he has 
almost cursed, at times, placing them under his arms 
and using them as crutches. 

I do not believe in the happiness of old bachelors, 
or in that of those individuals who, either through folly 
or calculation, have avoided the most praiseworthy of 
all our social institutions. Much has been said upon 
both sides, and I do not wish to augment the volume 
of documents in the hands of the advocates; but 
acknowledge frankly, you who have heard the cry of 
your new-born babe and have felt your heart echo this 
cry, acknowledge, I say, that you are, at least, not an 
idiot and that you have murmured to yourself: “I am 
in the right, the beautiful and the good path. Here 
and here only is the role worthy of a man. I enter the 
ordinary, beaten, but direct road ; I shall cross monoto- 
nous heaths, but every step will bring me nearer to the 
village belfry. I do not wander aimlessly in life; I 
walk forward and my feet press in my father’s foot- 
prints. Upon the same journey, in after years, my 
child will find the traces of my steps and, seeing that 
I have not failed, perhaps he will say : ‘ I shall do as 
my father did, and not lose myself on the pathless 
waste ! ’ ” 

If the word “ sacred ” has still a meaning, in spite of 
all the offices it has been made to perform, I cannot 
conceive of a better position for it. than beside the 
word 11 family ! ” 

We speak of progress, of justice, oi the general 


300 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 


well-being, of politics and of patriotic devotion — very 
proper subjects of conversation, I acknowledge, but 
the entire golden horizon is covered by those three 
words: “Love thy neighbor,” and, in my opinion, at 
least, it is precisely this that is most neglected. 

To love one's neighbor is as simple as “ good-morn- 
ing”; but to discover one who entertains this most 
natural feeling requires a lantern with a more powerful 
reflector than that reputed to have been used by 
Diogenes. There are people who exhibit to you the 
seed of this affection in the palms of their hands, but 
seedsmen are the very last persons to show you the 
plant in full bloom. 

Well, dear reader, this little plant, which ought to 
thrive in France like the corn-rose amid the grain, this 
little plant, which we never see higher than the water- 
cresses of the spring, but which ought to grow taller 
than the oaks, this little plant so difficult to find is — I 
will tell you where : 

It is at the family fireside, between the shovel and 
tongs and beside the pot of boiling soup. It is there 
that it is perpetuated, and it is to the family that we 
owe its present existence. I love nearly all the philan- 
thropists and protectors of humanity; but I have faith 
in none but those who have learned to love others by 
kissing their own children. 

We cannot remodel man to suit humanitarian 
theories; he i^ selfish and loves above all things that 
which pertains to himself. This is the human and 


MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 301 


natural feeling, and we should encourage, extend and 
cultivate it. In one word, in the love of family is 
included the love of father-land and, as a consequence, 
the love of humanity. It is the fathers who make 
good citizens. 

Man has not thirty-six motors ; he lias but one in his 
heart. Do not discuss it, but profit by it. 

Affection is gained step by step. The love of three 
beings, when it is vigorous, soon desires more room : 
the walls of the house are extended, and, little by 
little, the neighbors are invited in. That which is of 
most importance is, therefore, to engender this love of 
three beings, for I am afraid that it is folly to impose 
at the outset upon the heart of man the entire human 
race. It cannot swallow such an immense piece of 
food at a gulp and without previous preparation ! 

And this is why I have always thought that the 
numerous sous given for the redemption of the little 
Chinese might have made the fire crackle on many of 
the cold hearths at home, caused many eyes to beam 
with joy about a pot of steaming soup, warmed many 
chilled mothers, made many hungry babies smile and 
restored to many poor and discouraged unfortunates 
happiness and content on returning home at evening. 

How many good, hearty kisses you might have 
caused to resound with all those sous! — and, in conse- 
quence, how much nourishment might you have given 
to that little plant of which we have spoken ! 

“ But, then, what would have beeome of the little 
Chinese ? ” 


302 MONSIEUR, MADAME AND THE BABY. 

Well, we will postpone the consideration of that 
question for the present ; we must learn to love our 
own children before we can love those of others. 

This is brutal and selfish, but you will not change it 
in the least; it is with little faults that we construct 
great virtues. And, finally, beware of lamenting, for 
this selfishness is the first stone of that great monument 
— surrounded by scaffolding for the moment — which 
we call Society ! 



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The Mystery of Allanwold. A Thrilling Novel. By Mrs. Elizabeth Van 
Loon , author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth, and gold. Price $1.50. 

Under the Willows; cr, The Three Countesses. By Mrs. Elizabeth Van 
Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth, and gold. Price $1.50. 

The Shadow oi Hampton Mead. A Charming Story. By Mrs. Elizabeth 
Van Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth. Price $1.50. 

The Last Athenian. By Victor Rydberg. Translated from the Swedish. 
Large 12tno. volume, near 600 pages, cloth, black and gold, price $1.75. 

The Roman Traitor ; or, The Days of Cicero, Cato, and Cataline. A Tale 
of the Republic. By Henry William Herbert. Morocco cloth, price$l. 75. 

The Earl of Mayfield. By Thomas P. May, of Louisiana. One large 
duodecimo volume, bound in morocco cloth, black and gold, price $1.50. 

Myrtle Lawn. An American Romance in Real Life. By Robert E. 
Ballard, of North Carolina. Morocco cloth, black and gold, p'-iee $1.50. 

Miss Leslie’s Cook Book, a complete Manual tc Domestic Cookery in all 
its Branches. Paper cover, $1.00, or bound in morocco cloth, $1.50. 

Frank Forester’s Sporting Scenes and Characters. By Henry William 
Herbert. With Nineteen Illustrations. Two Volumes, cloth, $4 00. 

Francatelli's Modern Cook Book. With the most approved methods of 
French, English, German, and Italian Cookery. With Sixty-two Illus- 
trations. One volume, 600 pages, bound in morocco cloth, $5.00. 

The Waverley Novels. New National Edition. Five 8vo. vols., cloth 15.00 

Charles Dickens’ Works. New National Edition, f volumes, cloth. 20.00 

Charles Dickens’ Works. Illustrated 8 ro. Edition. 18 vols, cloth. 27.00 

Charles Dickens’ Works. New American Edition. 22 vols., cloth. 33.00 

Charles Dickens’ Works. Green Cloth 12 mo. Edition. 22 vcls., cl<>th, 44.00 

Charles Dickens’ Works. Illustrated 12 mo. Edition. S6 vols., cloth, 45.00 


f&t- Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Poterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Ta. (C) 


T. B. PETERSON and BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


Orders solicited from Booksellers, Librarians, Canvassers, News 
Agents, and all others in want of good and fast-selling 
books, which will be supplied at very Low Prices. 


MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH’S FAMOUS WORKS. 

Complete in forty-three large duodecimo volumes, bound in morocco cloth, gilt back , 
price $1.75 each; or $75.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Ishmael ; or, In the Depths, being Self-Made; or, Out of Depths.. 

Self Raised ; or, From the Depths. Sequel to “ Ishmael.” 1 75 


The Mother-in-Law, $1 75 

The Fatal Secret 1 75 

How He Won Her, 1 75 

Fair Play, 1 75 

The Spectre Lover, 1 75 

Victor’s Triumph 1 75 

A Beautiful Fiend, 1 75 

The Artist’s Love, 1 75 

A Noble Lord, 1 75 

Lost Heir of Linlithgow, 1 

Tried for her Life, 1 

Cruel as the Grave, 1 

The Maiden Widow, 1 75 

The Family Doom, 1 75 

The Bride’s Fate, 1 

The Changed Brides, 1 

Fallen Pride, 1 

The Widow’s Son, 1 

The Bride of Llewellyn, 1 75 

The Fatal Marriage, 1 75 


75 

75 

75 


75 

75 

75 

75 


The Deserted Wife,. 
The Fortune See 
The Bridal Eve,. 


Retribution, 


$1 75 

. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

•, 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

,. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

.. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 

. 1 

75 


Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 
Self-Made; or, Out of the Depths. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 
Complete in two volumes, cloth, price $1.75 each, or $3.50 a set. 

MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ’S WORKS. 

Complete in twelve large, duodecimo volumes, bound in morocco cloth, gilt 
price $1.75 each; or $21.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Love after Marriage, $1 75 


back 


Ernest Linwood, $1 75 

The Planter’s Northern Bride,.. 1 75 

Courtship and Marriage, 1 75 

Rena; or, the Snow Bird, 1 75 

Marcus Warland 1 75 

Linda; or, the Young Pilot of the Belle Creole, 1 

Robert Graham ; the Sequel to “ Linda; or Pilot of Belle Creole,”... 1 
Above are each in doth, or eaoh one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


Eoline; or Magnolia Vale, 1 

The Lost Daughter, 1 

The Banished Son, 1 

Helen and Arthur, 1 


75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 


gg* Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. (1) 


2 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS, 


MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS’ WORKS. 


Complete in twenty-three large duodecimo volumes, hound in morocco cloth, gilt back , 
price §1.75 each ; or §40.25 a set , each set is put up in a neat box. 


Norston’s Rest, 

....$1 

75 

The Soldiers’ Orphans, 

$1 

75 

Bertha’s Engagement, 

.... 1 

75 

A Noble Woman, 

1 

75 

Bdlehood and Bondage, 

1 

75 

Silent. Struggles, 

1 

75 

The Old Countess, 

1 

75 

The Rejected Wife, 

I 

75 

Lord Hope's Choice, 

1 

75 

The Wife’s Secret, 

1 

75 

The Reigning Belle, 

1 

75 

Mary Derwent, 

1 

75 

Palaces and Prisons, 

1 

75 

Fashion and Famine, 

1 

75 

Married in Haste, 

1 

75 

The Curse of Gold, 

1 

75 

Wives and Widows, 

1 

75 

Mabel’s Mistake, 

1 

75 

Ruby Gray’s Strategy, 

1 

75 

The Old Homestead,.. 

1 

75 


Doubly False, 1 75 | The heiress, 1 75 ) The Gold Brick,... 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or eaeh one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

MISS ELIZA A. DUPUY’S WORKS. 

Complete in fourteen , large duodecimo volumes, hound in morocco cloth, gilt back , price 
$1.75 each; or $24.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


A New Way to Win a Fortune $1 75 

Why Did He Marry Her?... 

...$1 

75 

The Discarded Wife, 

1 75 

Who Shall be Victor? 

... 1 

75 

The Clandestine Marriage, 

1 75 

The Mysterious Guest, 

... 1 

75 

The Hidden Sin 

1 75 

Was He Guilty? 

... 1 

75 

The Dethroned Heiress, 

1 75 

The Cancelled Will 

... 1 

75 

The Gipsy’s Warning 

1 75 

The Planter’s Daughter, 

... 1 

75 

All For Love, 

1 75 

Michael Rudolph, 

... 1 

75 


Above are each iu cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1 50 each. 

LIST OF THE BEST COOK BOOKS PUBLISHED. 


Emery housekeeper should possess at least one of the following Cook Books, as they 
would save the price of it in a week's cooking. 

Miss Leslie’s Cook Book, a Complete Manual to Domestic Cookery 


in all its Branches. Paper cover, $1 .00, or bound in cloth, $1 50 

The Queen of the Kitchen; or, The Southern Cook Book. Con- 
taining 1007 Old Southern Family Receipts for Cooking, ...Cloth, 1 75 

Mrs. Hale’s New Cook Book, Cloth, I 75 

Petersons’ New Cook Book Cloth, 1 75 

Widditield's New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Mrs. Good fellow’s Cookery as it Should Be Cloth, 1 75 

The National Cook Book. By a Practical Housewife, Cloth, 1 75 

The Young Wife’s Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Miss Leslie’s New Receipts for Cooking, Cloth, 1 75 

Mrs. Hale’s Receipts for the Million, Cloth, 1 75 


The Family Save-All. By author of “National Cook Book,” Cloth, 1 75 
Francatelli’s Modern Cook Book. With the most approved methods 
of French, English, German, and Italian Cookery. With Sixty- 
two Illustrations. One vol., 600 pages, bound in morocco cloth, 5 00 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson Sc Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 3 


MRS. C. A. WARFIELD’S WORKS. 

Complete in nine large duodecimo volumes, hound in morocco cloth , gilt back, price 
$1.75 each; or $15.75 a set, each set is put up in a neat Sox. 

The Cardinal’s Daughter, $1 75 Miriam’s Memoirs, $1 75 

Feme Fleming, 1 75 Monfort Hall, 1 75 

The Household of Bouverie,.... 1 75 Sea and Shore, 1 75 

A Double Wedding, 1 75 Hester Howard’s Temptation,... 1 75 

Lady Ernestine,* or, The Absent Lord of Rocheforte, 1 75 

FREDRIKA BREMER’S DOMESTIC NOVELS. 

Complete in six large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth , gilt back, price $1.75 each; 
or $10.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Father and Daughter, $1 75 | The Neighbors, $1 75 

The Four Sisters, 1 75 I The Home, , 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

Life in the Old World. In two volumes, cloth, price, 3 50 

ft. K. PHILANDER DOESTICKS’ WORKS. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.75 
each ; or $7.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Doesticks’ Letters, $1 75 | The Elephant Club, $1 75 

Plu-Ri-Bus-Tah, 1 75 | Witches of New York, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in ~aper cover, at $1.50 each. 

JAMES A. MAITLAND’S WORKS. 

Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.75 
each ; or $12.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

The Watchman, $1 75 | Diary of an Old Doctor, $1 75 

The Wanderer, 1 75 j Sartaroe, 1 75 

The Lawyer’s Story, 1 75 The Three Cousins 1 75 

The Old Patroon ; or the Great Van Broek Property, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE’S NOVELS. 

Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt hack, price $1.75 
each ; or $12.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

The Sealed Packet, $1 75 I Dream Numbers, $1 75 

Garstang Grange, 1 75 I Beppo, the Conscript, 1 75 

Leonora Casaloni,... 1 75 | Gemma, 1 75 | Marietta, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

FRANK FORESTER’S SPORTING SCENES. 

Frank Forester’s Sporting Scenes and Characters. By Henry William 
Herbert. A New, Revised, and Enlarged Edition, with a Life of the 
Author, a New Introductory Chapter, Frank Forester’s Portrait and 
Autograph, with a full length picture of him in his shooting costume, 
and seventeen other illustrations, from original designs by Darley and 
Frank Forester. Two vols., morocco cloth, bevelled boards, $4.00. 


IggP Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


4 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


WILKIE COLLINS’ BEST WORKS. 

Basil; or, The'Crossed Path..$l 50 | The Dead Secret. 12mo $1 50 

Above are each in one large duodecimo volume, bound in cloth. 


The Dead Secret, 8vo 75 

Basil; or, the Crossed Path, 75 

Hide and Seek, 75 

After Dark, 75 


The Queen’s Revenge, 75 

Miss or Mrs? 50 

Mad Monk ton, 50 

Sights a-Foot, 50 


The Stolen Mask, 25 | The Yellow Mask,... 25 | Sister Rose,... 25 

The above books are each issued in paper cover, in octavo form. 

EMERSON BENNETT’S INDIAN STORIES. 

Complete in seven larg ? duodecimo volumes, bound, in cloth, gilt back, price $1.76 
each ; or $12.26 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

The Border Rover, $1 75 Bride of the Wilderness, $1 75 

Clara Moreland, 1 75 Ellen Norbury, ’.. 1 75 

The Orphan’s Trials, 1 75 Kate Clarendon, 1 75 

Viola; or Adventures in the Far South-West, 1 75 

Above are each iiV cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

The Heiress of Bellefonte, 75 | The Pioneer’s Daughter, 75 


GREEN’S WORKS ON GAMBLING. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt buck, price $1.75 
each; or $7.U0 a set, each set is put up m a neat box. 


Gambling Exposed, $1 75 t The Reformed Gambler, $1 75 

The Gambler’s Life, 1 75 | Secret Band of Brothers, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


DOW’S PATENT SERMONS. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.50 
each ; or $6.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


Dow’s Patent Sermons, 1st 

Series, cloth, $1 50 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 2d 
Series, cloth 1 50 


Dow’s Patent Sermons, 3d 

Series, cloth, $1 50 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 4th 
Series, cloth, 1 50 


Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.00 each. 


GEORGE SAND’S GREATEST WORKS. 

Consuelo, 12mo., cloth, $1 50 | Jealousy, 1 2mo., cloth, $1 50 

Countess of Rudolstadt, 1 50 | Indiana, 12mo., cloth, 1 50 

Above are each published in 12mo., cloth, gilt side and back. 
Fanchon, the Cricket, paper cover, 50 cents, or fine edition, in cloth, 1 50 
First and True Love. With 11 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents ; cloth, 1 00 

Consuelo. Paper cover, 75 I The Corsair, 50 

Simon. A Love Story, 50 I The Last Aldini, 50 

The Countess of Rudolstadt. The Sequel to Consuelo. Paper cover, 75 


MISS BRADDON’S WORKS. 

Aurora Floyd 75 I The Lawyer’s Secret, 25 

Aurora Floyd, cloth 1 00 | For Better, For Worse, 75 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on Receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 5 


PETERSONS’ “DOLLAR SERIES.” 

Petersons' “ Dollar Series *' of Good Novels are the cheapest books at One Dollar each 
ever published. Ihey are all issued in uniform style, in 12mo. form, and are 
bound in red, blue and tan vellum, with gold and black sides and back, and are sold 
at the low price of One Dollar each, while they are as large as any books published 
at $! .75 and $2.00 each. The following have already been issued in this series: 

A Woman’s Thoughts About Women. By Miss Mulock. 

Two Ways to Matrimony; or, Is It Love, or, False Pride? 

The Story of “ Elizabeth.” By Miss Thackeray. 

Flirtations in Fashionable Life. By Catharine Sinclair. 

The Matchmaker. A Society Novel. By Beatrice Reynolds. 

Rose Douglas, the Bonnie Scotch Lass. A Companion to “ Family Pride.” 
The Earl’s Secret. A Charming Love Story. By Miss Pardoe. 

Family Secrets. A Companion to “ Family Pride,” and very fascinating. 
The Macdermots of Ballycloran. An Exciting Novel, by A. Trollope. 

The Family Save-All. With Economical Receipts for the Household. 
Self-Sacrifice. A Charming Work. By author of “Margaret Maitland.” 
The Pride of Life. A Love Story. By Lady Jane Scott, 

The Rival Belles; or, Life in Washington. Author “ Wild Western Scenes.” 
The Clyffards of Clyffe. By James Payn, author “ Lost Sir Massingberd.” 
The Orphan’s Trials; or, Alone in a Great City. By Emerson Bennett. 
The Heiress of Sweetwater. A Love Story, abounding with exciting scenes. 
The Refugee. A delightful book, full of food for laughter, and information. 
Lost Sir Massingberd. A Love Story. By author of “ Clyffards of Clyffe.” 
Cora Belmont ; or, The Sincere Lover. A True Story of the Heart. 

The Lover’s Trials ; or, The Days Before the Revolution. By Mrs. Denison. 
My Son’s Wife. A strong, bright, interesting and charming Novel. 

Aunt Patty’s Scrap Bag. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Ilentz, author of “ Rena.” 
Saratoga! and the Famous Springs. An Indian Tale of Frontier Life. 
Country Quarters. A Charming Love Story. By Countess of Blessington. 
Self-Love. A Book for Young Ladies, with prospects in Life contrasted. 
The Devoted Bride; or, Faith and Fidelity. A Love Story. 

The Heiress in the Family. By author of “Marrying for Money.” 

Colley Cibber’s Life of Edwin Forrest, with Reminiscences of the Actor. 
The Man of the World. Full of style, elegance of diction, force of thought. 
Out of the Depths. The Story of a Woman’s Life, and a Woman’s Book. 
The Queen’s Favorite ; or, The Price of aCrown. A Romance of Don Juan. 
Six Nights with the Washingtonians. By T. S. Arthur. Illustrated. 

The Rector’s Wife; or, The Valley of a Hundred Fires. A Beautiful work. 
The Coquette; or, the Life and Letters of the beautiful Eliza Wharton. 
Woman’s Wrong. A Book for Women. By Mrs. Eiloart. 

Harem Life in Egypt and Constantinople. By Emmeline Lott. 

The Old Patroon; or, The Great Van Broek Property, by J. A. Maitland. 
Nana. By Emile Zola. Gambling Exposed. By J. II. Green 

L’Assommoir. By Emile Zola. Woodburn Grange. By W. Howitt- 

Dream Numbers. By Trollope. The Cavalier. By G. P. R. James 

Love and Duty. By Mrs. Hubback. One for Another. By H. Morford 
A Lonely Life. Shoulder-Straps. By H. Morford. 

The Beautiful Widow. Treason at Home. Panola. 


ggf Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


6 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


PETERSONS’ “STERLING SERIES.” 

Petersons’ Sterling Series ” of Neio and Good Books are the Cheapest Novels 
in the tcorld. They are all issued in uniform style , in octavo form . price 
One Dollar each , bound in morocco cloth, black and gold; or 75 cents each 
in paper cover, with the edges cut open all around. The following 
celebrated works have already been issued in this series: 

Corinne; or, Italy. By Madame De Stael. This is a Wonderful Book. 
The Man in Black; or the Days of Queen Anne. By G. P. R. James. 
Edina; or, Missing Since Midnight. A Love Story. By Mrs. Henry Wood. 
Cyrilla. A Love Story. By the author of “ The Initials.” 

Popping the Question; or, Belle of the Ball. By author of “ The Jilt.” 
Marrying for Money. A Charming Love Story in Real Life. 

Aurora Floyd. An Absorbing Love Story. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 
Salathiel; or, The Wandering Jew. B}’ Rev. George Croly. 
llarrv Lorrequer. Full of Fun, Frolic and Adventure. By Charles Lever. 
Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon. Charles Lever’s Greatest Novel. 

The Flirt. A Fashionable Novel. By author of “ The Gambler’s Wife.” 
The Dead Secret. Wilkie Collins’ Greatest Work. 

Thackeray’s Irish Sketch Book, with Thirty-eight Illustrations. 

The Wife’s Trials. Dramatic and Powerful. By Miss Julia Pardoe. 

The Man With Five Wives. By Alexander Dumas, author of “ Camille.” 
Pickwick Abroad. Illustrated by Cruikshank. By G. W. M. Reynolds. 
First and True Love. Beautifully rich in style. By George Sand. 

The Mystery; or, Anne Hereford. A Love Storv. By Mrs. Henry Wood. 
The Steward. Illustrated. By the author of “ Valentine Vox.” 

Basil: or, The Crossed Path. By Wilkie Collins. Told with great power. 
'I he Jealous Wife. Great originality of plot. By Miss Julia Pardoe. 
Sylvester Sound. By the author of “ Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist.” 
Whitefriars; or, The Days of Charles the Second. Equal to “Ivanhoe.” 
"Webster and Hay ne’s Speeches on Foot’s Resolution <fc Slavery Compromise. 
The Rival Beauties. A Beautiful Love Story. By Miss Pardoe. 

The Confessions of a Prett)’ Woman. By Miss Julia Pardoe. 

Flirtations in America; or, High Life in New York. 

The Coquette. A Powerful and Amusing Tale of Love and Pride. 

The Latimer Family. T. S. Arthur’s Great Temperance Story, illustrated. 

Above books are $1.00 each in cloth, or 75 cents each in paper cover. 
The Creole Beauty. By Mrs. Sarah A. Dorsey. Price Fifty cents. 

Agnes Graham. By Mrs. Sarah A. Dorsey. Price Fifty cents. 

HENRY MORFORD’S AMERICAN NOVELS. 

Shoulder-Straps, $1 75 I The Days of Shoddy. A His- 

The Coward, 1 75 1 tory of the late War, $1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, price $1.50 each. 

THE SEAKSPSAEE HOVELS. 

Shakspeare and his Friends, ...$1 00 1 The Secret Passion, $1 00 

The Youth of Shakspeare, 1 00 I 

Above three Books are also bound in morocco cloth. Price $1.25 each. 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


t 


CHARLES BICXEHS’ WORKS. ILLUSTRATED. 

Th is edition is printed from large type, octavo size, each book being complete 
t'n one large octavo volume, bound iu Morocco Cloth-, with (tilt Character 
Figures on backhand Medallion on side, price $ 1 .5!) each, or $27.00 a set, 
contained iu eighteen volumes, the whole containing near Site Hundred 
Ilfttstmlious, by Cruikshauk, Phiz, Browne , Maclise, and other artists. 

The Pickwick Papers. By Charles Dickens. With 32 Illustrations, .$1.50 


Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles Dickens. With 37 Illustrations, l 50 

David Copperfield. By Charles Diekens. With S Illustrations, 1 50 

Oliver Twist. By Charles Dickens. With 21 Illustrations, 1 50 

Bleak House. By Charles Diekens. With 38 Illustrations, I 50 

Don* bey and Son. By Charles Dickens. With 38 Illustrations, I 50 

Sketches by ** Bos.” By Charles Dickens. With 20 Illustrations,... I 50 

Little Dorrit. By Charles Dickens. With 38 Illustrations 1 50 

Our Mutual Friend. By Charles Dickens. With 42 Illustrations ... 1 0 
Great Expectations. By Charles Dickens. With 34 Illustrations,... 1 50 
Lamplighter’s Story. By Charles Dickens. With 7 Illustrations,... 1 50 
Barnaby Budge. By Charles Diekens. With 50 Illustrations, I 50 


Martin Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dickens. With 8 Illustrations, 1 50 

Old Curiosity Shop. By Charles Dickens. With 1 0 1 Illustrations,, i 50 

Christmas Stories. By Charles Dickens. With 12 Illustrations, I 50 

Dickens' New Stories. By Charles Dickens. With portrait of author, I 50 
A Tale of Two Cities. By Charles Diekens. With <U Illustrations,. I 5# 


Charles Dickens's American Notes &t«i Pie-Nie Papers,. I 50 

WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following bo-rsks are each issued iu one large duodecimo volume, 
bound in cloth, at $1.75 each, or each oue is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

The Initials. A Love Story. By Baroness Tautphosus, $1 75 

Married Beneath Him. Bv author of “ Lost Sir Massingherd,” 1 75 

Margaret. Maitland. By Mrs. Oliphaut, author of “Zaidee,” 1 75 

Family Pride. By author of u Pique,” ** Family Secrets,” etc 1 75 

The Autobiography of Edward Wortley Montagu, I 75 

The Forsaken Daughter. A Companion to u Linda,” I 75 

Love and Liberty. A Revolutionary Story. By Alexander Dumas, 1 75 

The Morrisons. By Mrs. Margaret Hosuier, 1 75 

The Rich Husband. By author of * George Gcith,” 1 75 

The Lost Beauty. By a Noted Lady of the Spanish Court 1 75 

My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester. A Charming Love Story, 1 75 

The Quaker Soldier. A Revolutionary Romance. By Judge Jones, — I 75 


Memoirs of Vidocq, the French Detective. His Life and Adventures, I 75 
The Belle of Washington. With her Portrait. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 75 
High Life in Washington. A Life Picture. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 75 
Courtship and Matrimony. By Robert Morris. With a Portrait,.,. I 50 

The Jealous Husband. By Annette Marie Maillard, 1 75 

The Conscript ; or, the Days of Napoleon 1st. By Alex. Dumas,.... i 75 
C msin Harry. Bv Mrs. Grey, author of fi The Gambler's Wife,” etc. I 75 
Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 ea>ek. 


1^* Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Pric#, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa 


8 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following hooks are each issued in one large duodecimo volume , 
bound in cloth, at $1.75 each, or each one is in paper cover at $1.50 each. 
The Count of Monte-Cristo. By Dumas. Illustrated, paper $1.00,..$1 75 
The Countess of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, price $1.00 ; or cloth,.. 1 75 

Camille; or, the Fate of a Coquette. By Alexander Dumas, 1 75 

Love and Money. By J. B. Jones, author of the “ Rival Belles,”... 1 75 
The Brother’s Secret ; or, the Count De Mara. By William Godwin. 1 75 
The Lost Love. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of “ Margaret. Maitland,” 1 75 
The Roman Traitor. By Henry William Herbert. A Roman Story, 1 75 


The Last Athenian. By Victor Rydberg. From the Swedish, 1 75 

The Bohemians of London. By Edward M. Whitty, 1 75 

Wild Sports and Adventures in Africa. By Major W. C. Harris, 1 75 

The Life, Writings, and Lectures of the late “ Fanny Fern,” 1 75 

The Life and Lectures of Lola Montez, with her portrait, 1 75 

Wild Southern Scenes. By author of “ AVild Western Scenes,” 1 75 

Currer Lyle; or, the Autobiography of an Actress. By Louise Reeder. 1 75 

The Cabin and Parlor. By J. Thornton Randolph. Illustrated, 1 75 

The Little Beauty. A Love Story. By Mrs. Grey 1 75 

Lizzie Glenn ; or, the Trials of a Seamstress. By T. S. Arthur 1 75 

Lady Maud ; or, the Wonder of Kingswood Chase. By Pierce Egan, 1 75 

Wilfred Montressor; or, High Life in New York. Illustrated, 1 75 

Lorritner Littlegood, by author “ Harry Coverdale’s Courtship,” 1 75 

Married at Last. A Love Story. By Annie Thomas, 1 75 

Shoulder Straps. By Henry Morford, author of “ Days of Shoddy,” 1 75 
Days of Shoddy. By Henry Morford, author of “ Shoulder Straps,” 1 75 
The Coward. By Henry Morford, author of “ Shoulder Straps,” 1 75 


Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1 .50 each. 

MRS. HENRY WOOD’S BEST BOOKS, IN CLOTH. 

The following are cloth editions of Mrs. Henry Wood’s best hooks, and they 
are each issued in large octavo volumes, hound in doth, price $1.75 each. 
Within the Maze. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “East Lynne,” $1 75 

The Master of Greylands. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 

Dene Hollow. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Within the Maze,” 1 75 
Bessy Rane. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ The Channings,”.... 1 75 
George Canterbury’s Will. By Mrs. Wood, author “Oswald Cray,” 1 75 
The Channings. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Dene Hollow,”... 1 75 

Roland Yorke. A Sequel to “ The Channings.” By Mrs. Wood, 1 75 

Shadow of Ashlydyatt. By Mrs. "Wood, author of “ Bessy Bane,”.... 1 75 
Lord Oakburn’s Daughters; or The Earl’s Heirs. By Mrs. Wood,... 1 75 
Verner’s Pride. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ The Channings,” 1 75 
The Castle’s Heir; or Lady Adelaide’s Oath. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 
Oswald Cray. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Roland Yorke,”.... 1 75 

Squire Trevlyn’s Heir; or Trevlyn Hold. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 

The Red Court Farm. By Mrs. Wood, author of “Verner’s Pride,” 1 75 

Elster’s Folly. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Castle’s Heir,”... 1 75 

St. Martin’s Eve. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “Dene Hollow,” 1 75 
Mildred Arkell. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “East Lynne,” 1 75 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 

by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 

4 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 9 


ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WORKS, BOUND IN CLOTH. 

The following are cloth editions of Alexander Dumas’ works, and they are 
each issued in large octavo volumes, bound in cloth, price $1.75 each. 

The Three Guardsmen ; or. The Three Mousquetaires. By A. Dumas, $1 75 
Twenty Years After; or the “Second Series of Three Guardsmen," ... 1 75 
Bragelonne; S<»n of Athos ; or “ Third Series of Three Guardsmen," 1 75 
The Iron Mask ; or the “ Fourth Series of The Three Guardsmen.” .... 1 75 
Louise La Valliere; or the “Fifth Series and End of the Three 

Guardsmen Series,” 1 75 

The Memoirs of a Physieian ; or, Joseph Balsamo. Illustrated, 1 75 

Queen’s Necklace; or “ Second Series of Memoirs of a Physician," 1 75 
Six Years Later; or the “ Third Series of Memoirs of a Physician,” 1 75 
Countess of Charny ; or “Fourth Series of Memoirs of a Physician," 1 75 
Andree De Tavern ey ; or “ Fifth Series of Memoirs of a Physician,” 1 75 
The Chevalier; or the “ Sixth Series and End of the Memoirs of a 

Physician Series," 1 75 

The Adventures of a Marquis. By Alexander Dumas, 1 75 

The Count of Monte-Cristo. By Alexander Dumas,. 1 75 

Edmond Dantes. A Sequel to the “ Count of Monte-Cri$ f o,” 1 75 

The Countess of Monte-Cristo. A Companion to “ Monte-Cristo,”.... 1 75 
The Forty-Five Guardsmen. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated,... 1 75 
Diana of Meridor, or Lady of Monsoreau. By Alexander Dumas,... 1 75 
The Iron Hand. By Alex. Dumas, author “ Count of Monte-Cristo,” 1 75 

Camille; or the Fate of a Coquette. (La Dame aux Camelias,) 1 75 

The Conscript. A novel of the Days of Napoleon the First, 1 75 

Love and Liberty. A novel of the French Revolution of 1792-1793, l 75 


GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS’ WORKS, IN CLOTH. 

The following are cloth editions of G. W. M. Reynolds’ works, and they are 
each issued in large octavo volumes, bound in cloth, price $1.75 each. 

The Mysteries of the Court of London. By George W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 
Rose Foster; or the “Second Series of Mysteries of Court of London,” 1 75 
Caroline of Brunswick ; or the “ Third Series of the Court of London,” 1 75 
Venetia Trelawney; or “ End of the Mysteries of the. Court of London,” 1 75 


Lord Saxondale ; or the Court of Queen Victoria. By Reynolds, 1 75 

Count Christoval. Sequel to “ Lord Saxondale.” By Reynolds 1 75 


Rosa Lambert; or Memoirs of an Unfortunate Woman. B.v Reynolds, 1 75 
Mary Price; or the Adventures of a Servant Maid. By Reynolds,... 1 75 
Eustace Quentin. Sequel to “Mary Price.” By G. W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 
Joseph Wilmot; or the Memoirs of a Man Servant. By Reynolds,... 1 75 
The Banker’s Daughter. Sequel to “ Joseph Wilmot.” By Reynolds, 1 75 
Kenneth. A Romance of the Highlands. By G. W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 


Rye-House Plot; or the Conspirator’s Daughter. By Reynolds, 1 75 

Necromancer ; or the Times of Henry the Eighth. By Reynolds 1 75 

The Mysteries of the Court of Naples. B.v G. W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 

Wallace; the Hero of Scotland. By G. W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 

The Gipsy Chief. By George W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 


Robert Bruce; the Hero King of Scotland. By G. W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 


6^" Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


10 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following books are each issued in one large octavo volume, bound in 
cloth, at $2.00 each, or each one is done up in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

The Wandering Jew. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, $2 00 

Mysteries of Paris; and its Sequel, Gerolstein. By Eugene Sue 2 00 

Martin, the Foundling. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, 2 00 

Ten Thousand a Year. By Samuel Warren. With Illustrations,.... 2 00 

Washington and His Generals. By George Lippard, 2 00 

Toe Quaker City; or, the Monks of Monk Hall. By George Lippard, 2 00 

Blanche of Brandywine. By George Lippard, 2 00 

Paul Ardenheim; the Monk of Wissahiekon. By George Lippard,. 2 00 
The Mysteries of Florence. By Geo. Lippard, author 4 ‘ Quaker City,” 2 00 
The Pictorial Tower of London. By W. Harrison Ainsworth, 2 50 

The following are each issued in one large octavo volume, bound in cloth, price $2.0# 
each, or a cheap edition is issued in paper cover, at. 75 cents each. 


Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon. By Charles Lever, Cloth. $2 00 

Harry Lorrequer. With his Confessions. By Charles Lever,. ..Cloth, 2 00 

Jack Hinton, the Guardsman By Charles Lever, doth, 2 00 

Davenport Dunn. A Man of Our Day. By Charles Lever, ...Cloth, 2 00 

Tom Burke of Ours. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

The Knight of Gwynne. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Arthur O'Leary. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Con C regan. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Horace Templeton. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Kate O'Donoghue. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist. By Harry Cockton Cloth, 2 00 


HUMOROUS ILLUSTRATED WORKS. 

Each one is full of Illustrations, by Felix 0. C. Da r ley, and bound in Cloth. 
M ijor Junes’ Courtship and Travels. In one vol., 29 Illustrations, .$1 75 

Major Jones’ Scenes in Georgia. With 16 Illustrations, 1 50 

Swamp Doctor’s Adventures in the South-West. 14 Illustrations,... 1 50 

Col. Thorpe’s Scenes in Arkansaw. With 16 Illustrations, 1 50 

High Life in New York, by Jonathan Slick. With Illustrations, 1 50 

Piney Wood’s Tavern; or, Sam Slick in Texas. Illustrated, 1 50 

Humors of Falconbridge. By J. F. Kelley. With Illustrations, ... 1 50 

Simon Suggs’ Adventures and Travels. With 17 Illustrations, 1 75 

The Big Bear’s Adventures and Travels. With 18 Illustrations, 1 75 

Judge Haliburton’s Yankee Stories. Illustrated, 1 75 

Harry Coverdale’s Courtship and Marriage. Illustrated, 1 75 

Lurrimer Littlegood. Illustrated. By author of u Frank Fairlegh,” 1 75 
S un Slick, the Clockmaker. By Judge Haliburton. Illustrated,... 1 75 

Modern Chivalry. By Judge Breckenridga. Two vols., each 1 75 

Neal's Charcoal Sketches. By Joseph C. Neal. 21 Illustrations,... 2 50 

Major Jones’s Courtship. 21 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, 1 00 

Major Jones’s Georgia Scenes. 12 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, l 00 

M ajor Jones’s Travels. 8 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, 1 00 

Raucy Cottem’s Courtship. 8 Illustrations. Paper, 50 cents, cloth, 1 00 


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T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 11 


NEW AND GOOD BOOKS BY BEST AUTHORS. 

Consuelo. By George Sand. One volume, 12mo., bound in cloth, ...SI 50 
The Countess of Rudolstadt. Sequel to “ Consuelo.” 3 2mo., cloth,.. 1 50 
I idiana. A Novel. By George S.md, :.uihor of “ Consuelo,” cloth, 1 50 
Jealousy ; or, Teverino. By George Sami, author “ Consuelo,” cloth, 1 50 
Fanchon, the Cricket ; or, La Petite Fadette. By George Sand, cloth, 1 50 

The Dead Secret. By Wilkie Collins, author of 41 Basil,” cloth, 1 50 

Tne Crossed Path; or Basil. By Wilkie Collins, cloth, 1 50 

John Jasper’s Secret. Sequel to “Mystery of Edwin Drood” cloth,... 1 50 
The Life of Charles Dickens. By Dr. R. Shelton Mackenzie, cloth, 1 50 
The Lamplighter’s Story, with others. By Charles Dickens, cloth,... 1 50 
The Old Stone Mansion. By author of “ Heiress of Sweetwater, ” cloth, 1 50 

Rose Foster. By George W. M. Reynolds, Esq., cloth, 1 75 

Lord Montagu’s Page. By G. P. R. James, author* Cavalier/ cloth, 1 75 
The Earl of Mayfield. By Thomas P. May, cloth, black and gold,.. 1 50 

Myrtle Lawn. A Novel. By Robert E. Ballard, cloth, 1 50 

C-'rinne; or, Italy. A Love Story. By Madame de Stael, cloth,.... 1 00 
Cyrilla; or Mysterious Engagement. By author of “ Initials,” cloth, 1 00 

Treason at Home. A Novel. By Mrs. Greenough, cloth 1 75 

Letters from Europe. By Colonel John W. Forney’. Bound in cloth, 1 75 

Frank Fairlegh. By author of “ Lewis Arundel,” cloth, 1 75 

Lewis Arundel. By author of “ Frank Fairlegh,” cloth, 1 75 

llarry Racket Scapegrace. By the author of “ Frank Fairlegh,” cloth, 1 75 

Tom Racquet. By author of u Frank Fairlegh,” cloth, 1 75 

LaGaviota; the Sea-Gull. Bv Fernan Caballero, cloth, 1 50 

Aurora Floyd. By Miss M. E. Braddon. Bound in cloth, 1 00 

The Laws and Practice of the Game of Euchre and Draw Poker, 

as adopted by the Euchre Club of Washington, D. C. Cloth, 1 00 

Youth of Shakspeare, author •* Sh ikspeare and His Friends/’ cloth, 1 25 
Shakspeare and Ilis Friends, author “Youth of Shakspeare,” cloth, 1 25 
The Secret Passion, author of “Shakspeare and Ilis Friends,” cloth, 1 25 
Father Tom and the Pope; or, A Night at the Vatican, illus., cloth, 1 00 

Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott. One 8vo. volume, cloth, 2 50 

Life of Sir Walter Scott. By John G. Lockhart. With Portrait, 2 50 

Tales of a Grandfather & History of Scotland, by Walter Scott, cloth, 2 50 
Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, by Sir Walter Scott. One 8vo. vol., cloth, 2 50 
Miss Pardoe’s Choice Novels. In one large octavo volume, cloth,... 4 00 
Life, Speeches and Martyrdom of Abraham Lincoln. Illus., cloth,.. 1 75 
Rome and the Papacy. A History of the Men, Manners and Tempo- 
ral Government of Rome in the Nineteenth Century, cloth 1 75 

The French, German, Spanish, Latin and Italian Languages Without 
a Master. W'hereby any one of these Languages can be learned 

without a Teacher. By A. H. Monteith. One volume, cloth 2 00 

Liebig’s Complete Works on Chemistry. By Justus Liebig, cloth,... 2 00 

Life and Adventures of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, cloth, 1 75 

Tan-go-ru-a. An Historical Drama, in Prose. By Mr. Moorhead, — 1 00 

Tae Impeachment Trial of President Andrew Johnson. Cloth, 1 50 

Trial of the Assassins for the Murder of Abraham Lincoln. Cloth,... 1 50 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
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12 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


NEW AND GOOD BOOKS BY BEST AUTHORS. 

Beautiful Snow, and Other Poems. Ntic Illustrated Edition. By J. W. 
Watson. With Illustrations by E. L. Henry. One volume, morocco 
cloth, black and gold, gilt top, side, and back, price $2.00; or in 
maroon morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, $3 Of 
The Outcast, and Other Poems. By J. W. Watson. One volume, 
green morocco cloth, gilt top, side and back, price $2.00 ; or in ma- 
roon morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, ... 3 00 
The Young Magdalen; and Other Poems. Bound in green mo- 
rocco cloth, gilt top, side, and back, price $3.00; or in full gilt,.... 4 00 
Ilans Breitmann’s Ballads. By Charles G. Leland. Containing the 
“ First ,” “Second,” “ Third ,” “Fourth,” and “Fifth Series ” of Hans 
Breitmanns Ballads. Complete in one large volume, bound in 
morocco cloth, gilt side, gilt top, and full gilt back, with beveled 


boards. With a full and complete Glossary to the whole work, 4 00 

Meister Karl’s Sketch Book. By Charles G. Leland. (Hans Breit- 
mann.) Complete in one volume, green morocco cloth, gilt side, 
gilt top, gilt back, with beveled boards, price $2.50, or in maroon 

morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, etc., 3 50 

The Ladies’ Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners. By 
Miss Leslie. Every lady should have it. Cloth, full gilt back,... 1 75 
The Ladies’ Complete Guide to Needlework and Embroidery. With 

113 illustrations. By Miss Lambert. Cloth, full gilt back 1 75 

The Ladies’ Work Table Book. 27 illustrations. Paper 50 cts., cloth, 1 00 
Dow’s Short Patent Sermons. Bv Dow, Jr. In 4 vols., cloth, each.... 1 50 
Wild Oats Sown Abroad. A Spicy Book. By T. B. Witmer, cloth,... 1 50 
The Miser’s Daughter. By William Harrison Ainsworth, cloth, 1 75 


Across the Atlantic. Letters from France, Switzerland, Germany, 

Italy, and England. By C. H. Haeseler, M.D. Bound in cloth 2 00 

Popery Exposed. An Exposition of Popery as it was and is, cloth, 1 75 
The Adopted Heir. By Miss Pardoe, author of “The Earl’s Secret,” 1 75 
Coal, Coal Oil, and all other Minerals in the Earth. By Eli Bowen, 1 75 


Secession, Coercion, and Civil War. By J. B. Jones, 1 75 

Lives of Jack Sheppard and Guv Fawkes. Illustrated. One vol., cloth, 1 75 
Christy and White’s Complete Ethiopian Melodies, bound in cloth,... 1 00 
Historical Sketches of Plymouth. Luzerne Co., Penna. By Hendrick 
B. Wright, of Willtesbarre. With Twenty-five Photographs 4 00 


Dr. Ilollick’s great work on the Anatomy and Physiology of the 
Human Figure, with colored dissected plates of the Human Figure, 2 00 
Riddell’s Model Architect. With 22 large full page colored illus- 
trations, and 44 plates of ground plans, with plans, specifications, 
costs of building, etc One large quarto volume, bound, 15 Of 


HARRY COCKTON’S LAUGHABLE NOVELS. 


Valentine Vox, Ventriloquist,.. 

Valentine Vox, cloth, 

Sylvester Sound, 

The Love Match, 


75 

2 00 
75 


The Fatal Marriages,. 

The Steward, 

Percy Effingham, 


75 1 The Prince,. 


75 

75 

75 

75 


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T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 13 


WORKS IN SETS BY THE BEST AUTHORS. 

Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth’s Popular Novels. 43 vols. in all, $75 25 


Mrs. Ann S. Stephens’ Celebrated Novels. 23 volumes in all, 40 25 

Miss Eliza A. Dupuy’s Works. Fourteen volumes in all, 24 50 

Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz’s Novels. Twelve volumes in all, 21 00 

Mrs. C. A. Warfield’s Novels. Nine volumes in all, 15 75 

Frederika Bremer’s Novels. Six volumes in all 10 50 

T. Adolphus Trollope’s Works. Seven volumes in all, 12 25 

James A. Maitland’s Novels. Seven volumes in all, 12 25 

Charles Lever’s Works. Ten volumes in all, 20 00 

Alexander Dumas’ Works. Twenty-one volumes in all, 36 75 

George W. M. Reynolds’ Works. Eighteen volumes in all, 31 50 

Frank Fairlegh’s Works. Six volumes in all, 10 50 

Q. K. Philander Doestick’s Novels. Four volumes in all, 7 00 

Cook Books. The best in the world. Eleven volumes in all, 18 25 

Henry Morford’s Novels. Three volumes in all, 5 25 

Mrs. Henry Wood’s Novels. Seventeen volumes in all, 29 75 

Emerson Bennett’s Novels. Seven volumes in all 12 25 

Green’s Works on Gambling. Four volumes in all, 7 00 

American Humorous Works. Illustrated. Twelve volumes in all, 19 50 

Eugene Sue’s Best Works. Three volumes in all, 6 00 

George Sand’s Works. Consuelo, etc. Five volumes in all, 7 50 

George Lippard’s Works. Five volumes in all, 10 00 

Dow's Short Patent Sermons. Four volumes in all, 6 00 


The Waverley Novels. New National Edition. Five Svo. vols., cloth, 15 00 
Charles Dickens’ Works. New National Edition. 7 volumes, cloth, 20 00 

Charles Dickens’ Works. Illustrated 8 vo. Edition. 18 vols., cloth, 27 00 

Charles Dickens’ Works. New American Edition. 22 vols., cloth, 33 00 

Charles Dickens’ Works. Green Cloth 12/ho. Edition. 22 vols., cloth, 44 00 

Charles Dickens’ Works. Illustrated 12 mo. Edition. 36 vols., cloth, 45 00 

T. S. ARTHUR’S GREAT TEMPERANCE WORKS. 

Six Nights with the Washingtonians, Illustrated T. S. Arthur’s 
Great Temperance Stories. Large Subscription Edition, cloth, gilt, 

$3.50; Red Roan, $4.50; Full Turkej' Antique, Full Gilt 6 00 

The Latimer Family ; or the Bottle and Pledge. By T. S. Arthur, cloth, 1 00 

MODEL SPEAKERS AND READERS. 

Comstock’s Elocution and Model Speaker. Intended for the use of 
Schools, Colleges, and for private Study, for the Promotion of 
Health, Cure of Stammering, and Defective Articulation. By 
Andrew Comstock and Philip Lawrence. With 236 Illustrations.. 2 00 
The Lawrence Speaker. A Selection of Literary Gems in Poetry and 
Prose, designed for the use of Colleges, Schools, Seminaries, Literary 
Societies. By Philip Lawrence, Professor of Elocution. 600 pages.. 2 00 
Comstock’s Colored Chart. Being a perfect Alphabet of the English 
Language, Graphic and Typic, with exercises in Pitch, Force and 
Gesture, and Sixty-Eight colored figures, representing the various 
postures and different attitudes to be u.'ed in declamation. On a large 
RoHer. Every School should have a copy of it 5 00 

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14 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. 

a-GBEAT REDUCTION IN THEIR PRICES. 


ILLUSTRATED OCTAVO EDITION. 

Reduced in price from $2.50 to $1.50 a volume. 


This edition is printed from lanje type, double column, octavo page, ea< k 
book being complete in one volume . the whole containing near Six Hundred 
Illustrations, by Cruikshank, Phiz, Browne, Maclise, and other artists. 


Our Mutual Friend,.. 

...Cloth, 

$1.50 

David Coppertield, 


$ 1 .50 

Pickwick Papers, 

Nicholas Nickleby,... 


1.50 

Barnaby Rudge, 

Martin Chuzzlewit, 

.Cloth, 

1.50 


1.50 


1.50 

Great Expectations,... 
Lamplighter’s Story,. 


1.50 

Old Curiosity Shop 

Sketches by “ Boz,”... 

.Cloth, 

1.50 

...Cloth, 

1.50 

.Cloth, 

1.50 

Oliver Twist, 


1.50 

Christmas Stories, 

.Cloth, 

1.50 

Bleak House, 


1.50 

Dickens’ New Stories,. 

..Cloth, 

1.50 

Little Dorrit, 


1.50 

A Tale of Two Cities,. 

.Cloth, 

1.50 

Doiubey and Son, 


1.50 

Amer. Notes, Pic-Nic Papers, 

1.50 


Price of a set, in Block cloth, in eighteen volumes, $27.00 

“ “ Full sheep, Library style, 40.00 

“ “ Half calf, sprinkled edges, 4S.00 

“ “ Half calf, marbled edges, 54.00 


u (i Half calf, antique, or Half calf, full gilt backs,... 60.00 

ILLUSTRATED DUODECIMO EDITION. 

Reduced in price from $2.00 to $1.25 a volume, 
n is edition is printed on the finest paper, from large, clear type, leaded , 
that all can read, containing Six Hundred full page Illustrations, on 
tinted paper, from designs by Cruikshank, Phiz, Browne, Machse , 
McLenau, and other artists. This is the only edition jjublished that con- 
tains, all the original illustrations, as selected by Mr. Charles Dickens. 
Complete in 36 volumes, bound in back, morocco cloth, price $45.00 a set. 

“ NEW NATIONAL EDITION” OF DICKENS’ WORKS. 

This is the cheapest bound edition of the entire works of Charles Dickens 
ever published, all his writings being contained in seven large octavo vol- 
umes, with a portrait of Charles Dickens, and other illustrations. 


Price of a set, in Black cloth, in seven volumes, $20.00 

“ “ Full sheep, Library style, 23.00 


“ 11 Half calf, antique, or Half calf, full gilt backs,... 25.00 

GREEN MOROCCO CLOTH, DUODECIMO EDITION. 

This is the “ People's Duodecimo Edition ” in a new style of Binding, in 
Green Morocco Cloth, Bevelled Boards. Full Gilt descriptive back, and 
Medallion Portrait on sides in gilt, in Twenty-two handy volumes, 12 mo., 
fine paper, large dear type, and Two Hundred Illustrations on tinted paper. 
Price $44 a set, and each set. put up in a neat and strong box. This is 
the handsomest and best edition ever jmblished for the price. 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 15 


CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. 

U-GKEAT REDUCTION IN THEIR PRICES. *S» 


PETERSONS’ NEW AMERICAN EDITION OF DICKENS’ WORKS. 

This new edition of Charles Dickens’ Writings is in twenty-two volumes, 
and for beauty and cheapness far .-ur passes any ever before issued. It is 
called •* Petersons’ New American Edition,” and is printed on tine paper, 
from large, clear type, leaded, with original illustrations as selected by 
Mr. Dickens and designed by Phiz, Cruikshank, Browne, Maclise and other 
artists, and bound very gorgeously in red vellum, black and gold, with the 
cover tilled with the author’s principal characters, which he has made so 
world-famous. There in one corner is the immortal Pickwick, in another 
the well-known Micawber, the learned Copt. Cuttle, poor little Oliver Twist, 
the misguided Grandfather, the mean, hypocritical Pecksniff, the merce- 
nary Squeers, Boots, The Beadle, etc., and all of this for the small sum of 
$1.50 a volume, or a complete set in 22 volumes, each set put up in a neat 
box, lor $33.00, making a very handsome and unique edition. 


CHEAP PAPER COVER EDITION OF DICKENS’ WORKS. 


Each book being complete 


Pickwick Papers, 50 

Nicholas Niekleby, 50 

Dombey and Son, 50 

Our Mutual Friend, 50 

David Copperfield, 50 

Martin Chuzzlewit, 50 

Old Curiosity Shop, 50 

Oliver Twist, 50 

American Notes, 25 

Hard Times, 25 

A Tale of Two Cities, 25 

Somebody's Luggage, 25 

Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings, 25 

M rs. Lirriper’s Legacy, 25 

Mugby Junction, 25 

Dr. Marigold’s Prescriptions,... 25 

Mystery of Edwin Drood, 25 

Message from the Sea, 25 


Hunted Down; and Other Reprin 


in one large octavo volume. 

Bleak House, 

Little Dorrit, 

Christmas Stories, 

Barnaby Budge, 

Sketches by “ Boz,” 1 

Great Expectations, 

Joseph Grimaldi, 

The Pic-Nic Papers, 

The Haunted House 

Uncommercial Traveller, 

A House to Let, 

Perils of English Prisoners, 

Wreck of llie Golden Mary, 

Torn Tiddler’s Ground, 

Dickens’ New Stories, 

Lazy Tour of Idle Apprentices,. 

The Holly-Tree Inn, 

No Thoroughfare, 

Pieces, 


50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

50 


THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF CHARLES DICKENS. 

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF CHARLES DICKENS. By Dr. R. Shelton 
Mackenzie, containing a full history of his Life, hi3 Uncollected Pieces, 
in Prose and Verse; Personal R« collections and Anecdotes; His Last 
Will in full ; and Letters from Mr. Dickens never before published. 
With a Portrait and Autograph of Charles Dickens. Complete in one 
large duodecimo volume, in black cloth, or in red vellum. Price $1.50. 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


16 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WONDERFUL WORKS. 


Count of Monte-Cristo, 

Edmond Dantes, 

$1 00 

75 

Memoirs of a Physician; 

Joseph Balsamo, 

Queen’s Necklace, 

or, 

...$1 

00 

The Three Guardsmen, 

75 

.... 1 

00 

Twenty Years After, 

75 

Six Years Later, 

Countess of Charny, 

... 1 

00 

Bragelonne, 


... 1 

00 

The Iron Mask, 

1 00 

Andree de Taverney, 

... 1 

00 

Louise La Valliere, 


The Chevalier, 

... 1 

00 

Diana of Meridor 

1 00 

Forty-five Guardsmen, 

... 1 

00 

Adventures of a Marquis,.. 


The Iron Hand, 

... 1 

00 

Love and Liberty, (17y2-’93).. 1 50 

The Conscript, 

... 1 

50 

Camille; or, The Fate of a 
Countess of Monte-Cristo, 

Coquette, (La Dame Aux Camelias,) ... 

... 1 

50 

a companion to Count of Monte-Cristo 

,... 1 

00 


The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


The Mohicans of Paris, 

The Horrors of Paris, 

The Fallen Angel, 

Felina de Chaiubure, 

Sketches in France, 

Isabel of Bavaria, 

The Man with Five Wives, 

Annette; or, Lady of Pearls,... 


75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 


Twin Lieutenants, 

George; or, Isle of France, 

Madame de Chamblay,. 

The Black Tulip, 

The Corsican Brothers, 

The Count of Moret, 

The Marriage Verdict, 

Buried Alive, 


50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

25 


GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS’ HISTORICAL NOVELS. 


Mysteries Court of London,....$l 00 

Rose Foster, 1 50 

Caroline of Brunswick, 1 00 

Venetia Trelawney, 1 00 

Lord Saxondale, 1 00 

Count Christoval, 1 00 

Rosa Lambert 1 00 

Wallace, the Hero of Scotland, 1 00 


Mary Price, $1 

Eustace Quentin, 1 

Joseph Wilmot, 1 

Banker’s Daughter, 1 

Kenneth, 1 

The Rye-House Plot, 1 

The Necromancer, 1 

The Gypsy Chief, 1 


The Mysteries of the Court of Naples, full of Illustrations 1 

Robert Bruce, the Hero-King of Scotland, full of Illustrations 1 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 


Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots,... 75 

The Opera Dancer, 75 

Child of Waterloo, 75 

Isabella Vincent, 75 

Vivian Bertram, 75 

Countess of Lascelles, 75 

Duke of Marchmont, 75 

Massacre of Glencoe, 75 

Loves of the Harem, 75 

The Soldier's Wife, 75 

May Middleton, 75 


Ellen Percy, 75 

Agnes Evelyn, 75 

Pickwick Abroad, 75 

Parricide, 75 

Discarded Queen,. 1 . 75 

The Countess and the Page, 75 

Life in Paris, 50 

Edgar Montrose, 50 

The Ruined Gamester, 50 

Clifford and the Actress, 50 

Ciprina; or, the Secrets, 50 


pst- Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 17 


CHARLES LEVER’S GREAT WORKS. 


Charles O’Malley, 75 

Harry Lorrequer, 75 

Jack Hinton, 75 

Tom Burke of Ours, 75 

Knight of Gwynne, 75 


Arthur O’Leary, 75 

Con Cregan, 75 

Davenport Dunn, 75 

Horace Templeton, 75 

Kate O’Donoghue, 75 


Above are in paper cover, or a fine edition is in cloth at $2.00 each. 

A Rent in a Cloud, 50 | St. Patrick’s Eve, 50 

Ten Thousand a Year, in one volume, paper cover, $1.50 ; or in cloth, 2 00 
The Diary of a Medical Student, by author “ Ten Thousand a Year,” 75 


MRS. HENRY WOOD’S MASTERLY BOOKS. 


The Master of Greylands,. $1 50 

Within the Maze, 1 50 

Dene Hollow, 1 50 

Bessy Rane, 1 50 

George Canterbury’s Will, 1 50 

Verner’s Pride, 1 50 

The Channings, 1 50 

Roland Yorke. A Sequel to “The Channings,” 

Lord Oakburn’s Daughters; or, The Earl’s Heirs, 

The Castle’s Heir ; or, Lady Adelaide’s Oath, 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each, 

Edina; or, Missing Since Midnight. Cloth, $1.00, or in paper cover,. 
The Mystery. A Love Story. Cloth, $1.00, or in paper cover, 


The Shadow of Ashlydyat,. 

Squire Trevlyn’s Heir, 

Oswald Cray, 

Mildred Arkell, 

The Red Court Farm, 

Elster’s Folly, 

Saint Martin’s Eve, 


75 


50 

50 


A Life’s Secret, 


The Haunted Tower 

The Runaway Match, 

Martyn Ware’s Temptation,. 


Parkwater. Told in Twilight, 

The Lost Bank Note, 

The Lost Will, 

Orville College 50 

Five Thousand a Year, 25 Foggy Night at Ofibrd, 

The Diamond Bracelet, 25 William Allair, 

Clara Lake’s Dream, 25 A Light and a Dark Christmas 

The Nobleman’s Wife, 25 The Smuggler’s Ghost 

Frances Ilildyard, 25 Rupert Hall, 

Cyrilla Maude’s First Love,... 

My Cousin Caroline’s Wedding 


25 My Husband’s First Love, 

25 ! Marrying Beneath Your Station 


EUGENE SUE’S LIFE-LIKE WORKS. 


First Love 

Woman’s Love, 

Female Bluebeard,. 
M an - o f- Wa r’s- Man ,. 


The Wandering Jew, $1 50 

The Mysteries of Paris, 1 50 

Martin, the Foundling, 1 50 

Above are in cloth at $2.00 each. 

Life and Adventures of Raoul de Surville. A Tale of the Empire,. 

WILLIAM H. MAXWELL’S WORKS. 

Wild Sports of the West, 75 | Brian O'Lynn 


Stories of Waterloo, 75 I Life of Grace O’Malley,, 


50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

75 

75 

50 

50 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 


50 

50 

50 

50 

25 


75 

50 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


18 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


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With Tlhtminated Covers, and beautifully Illustrated by Felix 0. C. Dctrley. 

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Major Jones's Travels. Fall of Illustrations 75 

Major Jones's Georgia Scenes, with Illustrations by Darley 75 

Raney Cottero's Courtship, by author of Major Jones’s Courtship,.... 50 

The Adventures of Captain Simon Suggs. Illustrated, 75 

Major Jones’s Chronicles of Pineville. Illustrated, 75 

Polly Peablossom’s Wedding. With Illustrations, 75 

Widow Rugby’s Husband. Full of Illustrations, 75 

The Big Bear of Arkansas. Illustrated by Darley, 75 

Western Scenes : or, Rife on the Prairie. Illustrated 75 

Streaks of Squatter Life and Far West. Scenes. Illustrated, 75 

Pickings from the New Orleans Picayune. Illustrated, 75 

Stray Subjects Arrested and Bound Over. Illustrated, 75 

The Louisiana Swamp Doctor. Pull of Illustrations, 75 

Charcoal Sketches. By Joseph C. Neal. Illustrated, 75 

Peter Faber’s Misfortunes. By Joseph C. Neal. Illustrated,. 75 

Peter Ploddy and other Oddities. By Joseph C. Neal, 75 

Yankee Among the Mermaids. By William B. Burton 75 

The Drama in Pokerville. Bv J. M. Field. Illustrated, 75 

New Orleans Sketch Book. With Illustrations by Darley, 75 

The Deer Stalkers. By Frank Forester. Illustrated 75 

The Quomdon Hounds. By Frank Forester. Illustrated, 75 

My Shooting Bos. By Frank Forester. Illustrated,.. 75 

The Warwick Woodlands. By Frank Forester. Illustrated, 75 

Adventures of Captain Farrago. By H. 13. Braekcnridge,. 75 

Adventures of Major O’Regan. By H. II. Brackenridge, 75 

Sol Smith’s Theatrical Apprenticeship. Illustrated, 75 

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Quarter Race in Kentucky. With Illustrations by Darley,. 75 

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Pereival Mayberry’s Adventures. By J. H. Ingraham, 75 

Sum Slick's Yankee Yarns and Yankee Leiter3> 75 

Adventures of Fudge Fumble; or, Love Scrapes of his Life,.. 75 

Aunt Patty’s Scrap Bag. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, 75 

Following the Drum. By Mrs. Gen. Viele, 50 

The American Joe Miller. With H)0 Engravings, . 50 

SAMUEL WARREN’S REST BOOKS. 

Ten Thousand a Year, pa per, $1 50 I The Diary «>f a Medical Stn- 
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G. F. R. JAMES’S FASCINATING BOOKS. 

Lord Montagae’s Page. Paper cover, $1.50, or in cloth, $1 75 

The Cavalier. By the author of “ Lord Montague’s Page/’ cloth, 1 00 


The Man in Black,.. 75 | Arrah Neil,. 75 

Mary of Burgundy, 75 I Eva St. Clair, 50 


4^r*Abo73 Bbt-lfs will be seat, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Pricej 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 19 


MISS PARDOE’S FASCINATING WORKS. 

Confessions of a Pretty Woman, 75 The Rival Beauties, 75 

The Wife’s Trials, 75 Romance of the Harem, 75 

The Jealous Wife, 75 

Each of the above five books are also bound in cloth, at $1.00 each. 

The Adopted Heir. One volume, paper, $1.50; or in cloth, $1 75 

The Earl’s Secret. Ono volume, paper, $1.50; or in cloth, 1 75 

O’MALLEY AND HARRY LORREGUER. 

Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon. By Charles Lever. Four different 
editions : one at 75 cents in paper cover, and three bound in cloth, viz. ; 
Sterling Series, $1.00, People’s Edition, $1.50, & Library Edition, $2.00. 
Harry Lorrequcr. With His Confessions. By Charles Lever. Four 
different editions : one at 75 cents in paper cover, and three bound in 
cloth, viz. : Sterling Series, at $1.00, People’s Edition, at $1.50, and 
Library Edition, at $2.00. 


T. S. ARTHUR’S HOUSEHOLD NOVELS. 


The Lost Bride, 


The Divorced Wife, 

50 

The Two Brides, 


Mary Moreton, 

50 

Love in a Cottage,..., 


Pride and Prudence, 

50 

Love in High Life,.. 


Agnes; or, the Possessed, 

50 

Year after Marriage, 
The Lady at Home,., 

50 

Lucv Sandford ? 

50 


The Banker’s Wife, 

50 

Cecelia Howard, 

50 

The Two Merchants, 

50 

Orphan Children,.. .. 

50 

Trial and Triumph, 

50 

Debtor’s Daughter,.., 

50 

The Iron Rule, 

50 

Insubordination; or, 

the Shoemaker’s Daughters, 

50 

The Latimer Family ; 

; or, The Bottle and the Pledge. Illustrated 

50 

Six Nights with the Washingtonians 

; and other Temperance Tales. 



By T. S. Arthur. With original Illustrations, by George Cruik- 
shank. One large octavo volume, hound in beveled boards, $3.50 ; 
red roan, full gilt back, $4.50; or full Turkey morocco, full gilt,... 6 00 
Lizzy Glenn; or, the Trials of a Seamstress. Cloth $1.75 ; or paper, 1 50 


MRS. GREY’S CELEBRATED NOVELS. 

Cousin Harry, $1 50 | The Little Beauty, $1 50 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


A Marriage in High Life, 50 

Gipsy’s Daughter, 50 

Old Dower House 50 

Belle of the Family, 50 

Duke and Cousin, 50 

The Little Wife, 50 

Lena Cameron, 50 

Sybil Leonard 50 

Manoeuvring Mother 50 


The Baronet’s Daughters, 50 

Young Prima Donna, 50 

Hyacinthe, 25 

Alice Seymour, 25 

Mary Seaham 75 

Passion and Principle, 75 

The Flirt 75 

Good Society, 75 

Lion-Hearted, 75 


X®* Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Pries, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


20 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


CAPTAIN MARRYATT’S GREAT WORKS. 


Jacob Faithful, 

50 

Newton Forster, 

Japhet in Search of a Father,.. 

. 50 

King’s Own, 

Phantom Ship, 

50 

Pirate and Three Cutters, 

Midshipman Easy, 

50 

Peter Simple, 

Pacha of Many Tales, 

50 

Percival Keene, 

Frank Mild may, Naval Officer, 

50 

Poor Jack, 

Snarleyow, 

50 

Sea King, 


50 

60 

60 

50 

50 

50 

50 


REVOLUTIONARY STORIES. 


The Brigand, 50 

Ralph Runnion, 50 

Seven Brothers of Wyoming,.. 50 

The Rebel Bride, 50 

The Flying Artillerist, 50 

Wau-nan-gee, 50 


Old Put; or, Days of 1776, 50 

Legends of Mexico, 50 

Grace Dudley, 50 

The Guerilla Chief, 75 

The Quaker Soldier, paper, 1 50 

do. do. cloth, 1 75 


J. E. SMITH’S WORKS. 

The Usurer’s Victim; or, I Adelaide Waldegrave; or, the 
Thomas Balscoinbe, 75 I Trials of a Governess, 75 

WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH’S WORKS. 


Life of Jack Sheppard, 50 

Life of Guy Fawkes, 75 

Court of the Stuarts, 75 

Windsor Castle 75 

The Star Chamber, 75 

Old St. Paul’s, 75 

Court of Queen Anne, 50 


Life of Dick Turpin, 50 

Life of Davy Crockett, 50 

Life of Grace O’Malley, 50 

Desperadoes of the New World, 50 

Life of Henry Thomas, 25 

Life of Ninon De L’Enclos,.... 25 
Life of Arthur Spring, 25 


The Tower of London, with 93 illustrations, paper cover, $1.50, cloth, 2 50 

The Miser’s Daughter, paper cover, $1.00, or in cloth, 1 75 

Lives of Jack ifneppard and Guy Fawkes, in one volume, cloth, 1 75 


GUSTAVE AIMARD’S FRONTIER STORIES. 


The Prairie Flower, 

50 

Trapper’s Daughter, 

The Indian Scout, 

50 

The Tiger Slayer, 

The Trail Hunter, 

75 

The Gold Seekers, 

The Indian Chief, 

75 

The Rebel Chief, 

The Red Track, 


The Border Rifles, 

The White Scalper, 


Pirates of the Prairies, 

The Freebooters, 

50 



ELLEN PICKERING’S EXQUISITE NOVELS. 


Poor Cousin, 50 

Orphan Niece, 5h 

Ilate Walsingham, 50 

Ellen Wareham, 38 


The Grumbler, 

Marrying for Money,. 
Who Shall be Heir?... 
The Squire, 


75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 


75 

75 

38 

38 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price s 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 21 


FRANK FAIRLEGH'S GREAT WORKS. 

F*lnk Fairlegh, 75 I Harry Racket Scapegrace, 75 

Lewis Arundel, 1 00 I Tom Racquet, 75 

Finer editions of the above are also issued in cloth, at $1.75 each. 

Harry Coverdale’s Courtship, 1 75 | Lorrimer Littlegood 1 75 

The above are each in cloth, or in paper cover, price $1.50 each. 

The Colville Family. By author of “Frank Fairlegh,” 50 

SEQUEL TO “ DICKENS’ MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.” 

JOHN JASPER’S SECRET. Being (he sequel to Charles Dickens' novel 
of “ The Mystery of Edwin Drood By Charles Dickens, Jr., and Wil- 
kie Collins. With eighteen full page illustrative engravings, on tinted 
paper, of the principal scenes and personages in the novel. No set of 
Dickens can be complete without a copy of “John Jasper’s Secret” is in 
the set. Complete in one large duodecimo volume, bound in black 
morocco cloth, or in red vellum. Price $1.50. 


THE LAMPLIGHTER’S STORY. BY CHARLES DICKENS. 


This volume contains, besides “The Lamplighter’s Story,” his Prize 
Story of Hunted Down, with seven illustrations; The Detective 
Police, on Duty with Inspector Field; Down With The Tide; The 
Christmas Tree; A Child’s Dream of a Star, and several other Nov- 
ellettes. Handsomely bound in Morocco Cloth, Gold and Black, 12mo., 
price $1.50. 

LIVES OF NOTED HIGHWAYMEN, ETC. 


Life of John A. Murrel, 50 

Life of Joseph T. Hare 50 

Life of Col. Monroe Edwards, 50 

Life of Jack Sheppard, 50 

Life of Jack Rann, 50 

Life of Dick Turpin, 50 

Life of Helen Jewett, 50 

Desperadoesof the New World, 50 

Mysteries of New Orleans, 50 

The Robber’s Wife, 50 

Obi; or, Three Fingered Jack, 50 

Kit Clayton 50 

Life of Tom Waters, 50 

Nat Blake, 50 

Bill Horton, 50 

Galloping Gus, 50 

Life Trial of Antoine Probst, 50 

Ned Hastings, 50 

Eveleen Wilson, 50 

Diary of a Pawnbroker, 50 

Silver and Pewter, 50 

Sweeney Todd, 50 

Life of Grace O’Malley, 50 


Life of Davy Crockett, 50 

Life of Sybil Grey 50 

Life of Jonathan Wild, 25 

Life of Henry Thomas, 25 

Life of Arthur Spring, 25 

Life of Jack Ketch, 25 

Life of Ninon De L’Enclos, 25 

Lives of the Felons, 25 

Life of Mrs. Whipple, 25 

Life of Biddy Woodhull, 25 

Life of Mother Brownrigg, 25 

Dick Parker, the Pirate, 25 

Life of Mary Bateman, 25 

Life of Captain Blood, 25 

Capt. Blood and the Beagles,.. 25 

Sixteen-Stringed Jack’s Fight 

for Life, 25 

Highwayman’s Avenger, 25 

Life of Raoifl De Surville 25 

Life of Rody the Rover, 25 

Life of Galloping Dick, 25 

Life of Guy Fawkes, 75 

Vidocq, the French Detective, 75 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


22 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


GEORGE LIPPARD’S WEIRD STORIES. 


The Quaker City, $1 50 

Paul Ardcnheim, 1 50 

Blanche of Brandywine, 1 50 

The Legends of the American 
Revolution; or, Washington 

and his Generals, 1 50 

Hysterics of Florence 1 00 

Above iu cloth at $2.00 each. 


The Empire City, 

Memoirs of a Preacher,.... 

The Nazarene, 

Washington and his Men,, 

Legends of Mexico, 

The Entranced, 

The llobhers, 

The Bank Director’s Sou, , 


SIE E. L. BUL WEE’S NOVELS. 

The Roue, 50 I The Courtier, 

The Oxonians, 50 l Falkland, 


MBS. C. J. NEWBY’S GEAFHIC NOVELS. 


Sunshine and Shadow, 

, 50 

50 

Trodden Down, 

Married, 

Wondrous Strange 

, 50 

Common Sense, 

Margaret Hamilton, 

. 50 

Only Temper, 

Right and Left, 

. 60 


LIST OF BEST SEA TALES PUBLISHED. 

Adventures of Ben Brace,.... 

.. 75 

Gallant Tom, 

Jack Adams, the Mutineer,... 

75 

Harry Helm, 



Rebel and Rover, 

Petrel; or, Life on the Ocean 

75 

Man -of-War’s- Man, 

Life of Paul Periwinkle, 

.. 75 

Dark Shades of City Life, 

Life of Tom Bowling, 

.. 75 

The Rats of the Seine, 

Percy Effingham, 

.. 75 

Charles Ransford, 

Red King, 

.. 50 

The Iron Cross, 

The Corsair, 

.. 50 

The River Pirates, 

The Donincd Ship,... 


The Pirate’s Son, 

The Three Pirates, 

50 

J icob Faithful, 

Thu Fiying Dutchman, 


Phantom Ship, 

The Flying Yankee, 


Midshipman Easy, 

The Yankee Middy,.. 


Pacha of Many Tales, 

The Gold Seekers, 


Naval Officer, 

The King’s Cruisers, 

50 

Snarleyow, 

Life of Alexander Tardy, 

60 

Newton Forster, 

Red Wins:, 

50 

Kinor’s Own, 

Yankee Jack, 


Japhct, 

Yankees in Japan, 

.. 50 

P rate and Three Cutters, 

Morgan, the Buccaneer, 


Peter Simple, 

Jack J unit, v 

50 

Percival Keene 

1) i vis, the Pirate, 

50 

Poor Jack, 

Valdez, the Pirate, 

... 60 

Sea King, 

llarry Tempest, 




75 

75 

75 

75 

50 

25 

25 

25 


25 

25 


50 

50 

50 

50 


50 

50 

50 

50 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

60 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. i. PETERSON AND BROTHERS, 

300 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, 

Desire to direct the close attention of all lovers of good novel reading to the 
works and authors contained in their new catalogue, just issued. A strict scrutiny is 
solicited, because the books enumerated in it are among the most poptiiar now 
in existence. In supplying ymtr wants and taste in the reading line, it is of the first 
importance that you should give special attention to what is popularly designated en- 
t rta ning reading ma ter. No library is either a ttractive or complete without a col- 
lect. on of novels and romances. Th .• experience of many years has demonstrated 
that light reading is essential to even the most studious men and women, furnishing 
the muid with healthful recreation ; while to the young, and to those that have not 
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whi h treat of political economy, the sciences, and of the arts. 

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ah the famous American and Foreign Novelists, whose writings are very entertain- 
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writings of Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southwosth, whose romances are always ia 
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the authoress of “ East Lynne ; ” Mrs. Caroukb Lee Hentz, whose stories of 
Southern life stand unparalleled in their simple truth and exquisite beauty ; Mrs. C. 
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lias made a wonderful mark ; Mrs. F. K . Burnett, the authoress of “ Theo ; ” the 
charming and pathetic French and Ru sian romances of H enky Greville; the 
won lerful and famous fictions ofGus r.v. E Flaubert ; the brilliant and artistic works 
of Octave Feuillet; the highly finished and powerful stories of Ernest Daudet; 
the popular and pleasing productions of Prosper Mfrimee ; the beautiful and 
touching love tales of the celebrated G eorge Sand ; the clever and intensely inter- 
esting writings of Jules Sandeau; the exciting and ingenious novels of Adolphe 
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George W. M. Reynolds, w hose romances of London life, founded on facts, are of 
matchless interest; Sir Walter Scott, whose “ WaveHey” novels still maintain 
a strong hold on the people. Charles Dickens' complete writings we furnish in 
e very variety of style. We publish also the weird stories of George Lippard ; the 
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H ekbekt’s sporting stories ; and the graphic Italian romances of T. A. Trollope ; 
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Petersons’ Dollar Series of Good Novels;” Petersons’ ‘‘Sterling Series” of 
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4®^ Look over our Catalogue, and enclose a Draft or Post Office Order for five, 
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T. B« PETERSON & BROTHERS, Publishers, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa* 


B®* Octave Feuillet’s New Work, 


THE HISTORY ofaPARISIENNE 

(HISTOIRE D’UNE PARISIENNE.) 


BEING THE STORY OF A PARISIAN WOMAN OF FASHION. 
BY OCTAVE FEUILLiET. 

AUTHOR OF “THE COUNT DE CAMORS,” “ THE AMOURS OF PHILIPPE ; OR, PHILIPPE'S LOVE AFFAIRS,*’ 
“BELLAH,” “THE LITTLE COUNTESS,’’ ETC. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY CHARLES RIPLEY. 


In il The History of a Parisienne, * ’ Octave Feuillet makes a novel out 
of the materials which he finds in the upper circles of aristocratic society 
in France. His aim is to show how an accomplished , beautiful and ami- 
able girl , may be transformed , by being wedded to a worthless , cynical and 
depraved husband , into a kind of moral monster , capable of anything and 
believing in nothing. He lays the blame of the ruin of many married women 
to the carelessness or perversity of their mothers in accepting husbands for 
them who are not suited to win their hearts or to understand their souls. 
Every page is illuminated by some bright witticism or profound observatioii. 
As a work of art , one cannot fail to get great pleasure out of the book ; 
while for cleverness , thrilling interest , and beauty of style, it is unquestion- 
ably one of the most powerful and successful works ever put forth by this 
gifted author. Highly original in form and intensely dramatic , it also stands 
unrivalled as an example of terse and graphic character-painting ; and the 
terrible transformation wrought in the nature of a pure and noble woman 
by evil associates and the brutality of a coarse a?id unscrupulous husband 
is delineated with a skill that holds the reader spell-bound to the end. 


Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 


The History of a Parisienne” is issued in a large square nmo, 
volume, in uniform style with “ The Count de Camors,” “ Bellah,” “ The 
Little Countess," and “The Amours of Philippe,” by Octave Feuillet, and 
with the works of “Henry Greville,” and “Emile Zola,” issued by us, all of 
which books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, and on all Rail- 
road Trains, or copies of any one, or all of the books, will be sent to any one, 
post-paid, on remitting their price to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


PETERSONS’ NEW BOOKS. 

NANA’S DAUGHTER. A Continuation of and Sequel to Emile 
Zola’s Novel of “ NANA.” Paper, 75 cents, or $1.00 in cloth. 

NANA. By Emile Zola. A New Edition. With an Illustrated 
Cover and Portraits. Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

NANA’S MOTHER; or, L’ASSOMMOIR. By Emile Zola . 
With her Portrait. Paper cover, 75 cents, or $1.00 in cloth. 

THE HISTORY OF A PARISIENNE. By Octave Feuillet, 
author of “ Bellah.” Paper, 50 cents, or $1.00 in cloth. 

THE EXILES. A Russian Story. Paper, 75 cents, or cloth, $1.00. 

MILDRED’S CADET; or, HEARTS AND BELL-BUT- 
TONS. An Idyl of West Point. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 

MY HERO! By Mrs. Forrester. Paper, 75 cents, or cloth, $1.00. 

CAMILLE; or, THE FATE OF A COQUETTE. (“Za 

Dame Aux CameliasP) Paper, 75 cents, or $1.25 in cloth. 

DOSIA. By Henry Greville. Paper cover, 75 cents, or cloth, $1.25. 

VIDOCQ! THE FRENCH DETECTIVE. With Portrait 
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THE COUNT DE C AMORS. By Octave Feuillet. Price 75 
cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

MADAME BOVARY. A Tale of Provincial Life. By Gustave 
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KATHLEEN! THEO ! MISS CRESPIGNY! PRETTY 
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NANA! The Sequel to “ L’Assommoir.” NANA! By Emile 
Zola. With a Picture of u Nana ” on the cover. Price 75 cents 
in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

L’ASSOMMOIR. By Emile Zola. L’ASSOMMOIR. With 

a Picture of “ Gervaise ” Nana's mother , on the cover. Price 
75 cents in paper, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

THERESE RAQUIN. By Emile Zola , author of “Nana.” 
With a Portrait of “ Emile Zola ” on the cover. Price 75 cents 
in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

LA CUREE. By Emile Zola , author of “Nana.” Price 75 cents 
in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

MAGDALEN EERAT. By Emile Zola. With a Picture of 
“ Magdalen Eerat ” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper 
cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

CLORINDA; or, Zola’s Court of Napoleon III. By Emile 

Zola , author of “Nana.” With a Picture of “ Clorinda” on 
the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

ALBINE; or. The Abbe’s Temptation. (La Faute do 
L’Abbe Mouret.) By Emile Zola , author of “Nana.” With 
a Picture of “Albine” on the cover. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 

HELENE ; A LOVE EPISODE; or, Une Page D’ Amour. 

By Emile Zola , author of “Nana.” With a Picture of “Helene* 
on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

MIETTE; or, The Rougon-Macquart Family. (La For- 
tune des Rougon.) By Emile Zola , author of “Nana.” 
Price 75 cents in paper; or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS. By Emile Zola , author 
of “Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

THE MARKETS OF PARIS, By Emile Zola , author of 

“Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 


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T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


A NEW AMERICAN STORY OF REAL LIFE, 


PAUL HART; 

OR, 

THE LOVE OP HIS LIFE, 

BY U1STCLE BUTE. 


A thoroughly American story of real life, without sensational exaggeration, yet full 
of incident, and exhibiting, in a marked manner, the various characteristics of the 
persons through whom the plot is simply yet artistically developed, will be welcomed 
by the reading public as much for its complete probability as for its well-sustained 
interest and originality. “ Paul Hart; or, The Love of His Life ” is precisely 
such a romance. The scene is principally laid in New York, and the interest is mainly 
concentrated on the adventures of Paul Hart, from childhood to successful manhood. 
Of course, where there is a hero there must be a heroine. She is here in the person 
of Lisette Lawrence, daughter of a wealthy trader in the Empire City — a young lady 
of great personal and mental charms. Her character, indeed, is admirable, and the 
author has evidently taken infinite pains to develop it, whether amid the sunshine or 
storm which pervade what is called Life. She is, indeed, a realization of the poet’s 
Phantom of Delight: 

“A perfect woman, nobly planned, to warn, to comfort, and command; 

And yet a spiiit still, and bright with something of angelic light.” 

Indeed, all the women in this tale (including poor Mattie Brooks, who having after 
erring made a new and better life for herself) are drawn with a truthful pencil. 
Paul Hart, who, bv his own merits and perseverance, has risen from a wretched infancy 
to a prosperous and distinguished manhood, is another pen-portrait of great merit. 
The villain of the story, one Wilks Glennerdressen, a man of wealth, considerable 
talents, and numerous deadly sins, is forcibly and faithfully drawn, and meets his 
reward at last. There is an episodal interval of action, in the country, which contrasts 
very pleasantly with city life. There is an under-plot, as usual, which will divide the 
reader’s attention. But the great merit of this life story is that it makes the career of 
Paul Hart its principal objective point, and a very checkered career, with its alterna- 
tions of light and shade, poverty and success, it is, from first to last. It is what may 
be termed a domestic romance, yet. the reverse of a mere fiction. That is, it is a 
thrilling story, so truthful even in its presentation of individual traits of character 
a id superstitious dialogue, that many readers, no doubt, will imagine thatit is literally 
“ founded on facts.” Hart, the incarnation of a self-made man, must be a photograph 
from life. — Critic. 


Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.25. 


“Paul Hart ; or, The Love of His Life ” is for sale by all Booksellers and News 
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NANA’S DAUGHTER. 

A CONTINUATION OF AND 

SEQUEL TO EMILE ZOLA’S NOVEL OF “ NANA.” 


TRANSLATED FROM ADVANCE FRENCH SHEETS 

ZB IT JOHN STIZR/XjUETO-. 


••NANA’S DAUGHTER” HAS AN ILLUSTRATED COVER , WITH 
A PORTRAIT OF THE HEROINE AND OF ALL THE 
PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS IN THE WORK ON IT. 


‘‘Nana’s Daughter” is a sequel to Emile Zola’s world-famous “Nana.” It 
■will be found even more interesting than that great work — first, because it has a plot 
of rare excellence which is unfolded with the utmost skill ; second, because the inci- 
dents are intensely dramatic and exciting; and third, because everything about it is 
original and utterly out of the common track of fiction. Nana is again brought upon 
the stage, but in a manner that is not in the least repugnaut to good taste. The authors 
have refined her, and surrounded her with every species of Parisian elegance and lux- 
ury. Her wealth is numbered by millions, and in certain circles she is a power. Of 
course, she remains a schemer and profits by the weaknesses of her admirers, but she 
is shorn of many characteristics which in Zola’s book rendered her so repulsive. Her 
daughter, Andree, is in every respect her opposite, and a sweeter or more attractive 
creature than she has never figured in a novel. Deserted in her infancy by her unfeel- 
ing mother and thrown upon the mercies of public charity, Andree is adopted by an 
upright mechanic and his wife, and is brought up in the most exemplary fashion. In 
the course of the tale she is environed with many temptations, but her good sense and 
education enable her to withstand them all and to shine the brighter in consequence 
of them. Nana discovers her whereabouts and endeavors to get possession of her, her 
efforts bringing about a series of scenes unparalleled in modern fiction, and so absorb- 
ing that they absolutely enchain attention. The authors’ aim is to show that evil 
instincts are not hereditary, the reverse of what is maintained by Zola, and that they 
succeed in forcibly stating, if not in proving, their case all will admit on reading 
“Nana’s Daughter.” The other characters are drawn in masterly fashion, Pierre 
Naviel, d’Albigny, Luke, Lucien Despretz, Margot and Madame Adele Pespretz, as 
well as the Rajah, being personages especially instinct with life and naturalness. The 
courtship of Andree and Lucien, with all the shadows that fall upon it, is a delicious 
love-idyl that everybody will admire, so tender, felicitous and touching is it, and so 
artistically heightened by the Rajah’s hopeless passion. “Nana’s Daughter” is 
superbly written. It is, indeed, a phenomenal work, and that it wifi create a sensation 
equal to that produced by “ Nana” is certain. The translation, fr^m the French, by 
John Stirling cannot be too highly commended. It is vigorous, faithful and excellent. 


Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black. $1.00. 

“Nana’s Daughter ” is for sale by all Booksellers and News Agen*s r or copies of 
it will be sent to any one , at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Piv 


*®“The Russian “Robinson Crusoe.” 


A RUSSIAN STORY. 

By VICTOR TISSOT and CONSTANT AMERO. i 


“ The Exiles,” by Victor Tissot and Constant Amero, will at once attract attention 
for many reasons. In the first place, it is an admirable love story such as everybody 
can appreciate. Then, it enters so fully into the details of convict life in Siberia that 
all will want to read it at this time, when the public mind is so much taken up with 
the exciting state of Russian affairs, and when every one desires to know all that can 
be known concerning the punishment of exile which is probably in store for those 
suspected of Nihilism. The hero, Yegor Seraenoff, has been exiled to Siberia for 
political causes. There, after being rescued from the dreadful drudgery of the mines 
by a powerful personage who makes him his secretary, he meets Nadege Davidoff, 
whom he loved in Russia, and who has followed her father into banishment. At the 
father’s death-bed he agrees to marry Nadgge, and the twain plan an escape from the 
land of exile. The details of this escape make up the bulk of the book, and to say 
that they are intensely interesting would be to give but a feeble idea of their absorb- 
ing nature. The lovers, accompanied by M. Lafleur, a French dancing-master, who 
is an enthusiastic believer in liberty, and Ladislas, a Polish boy, and followed by 
Yermac, the chief of police of Yakoutsk, flee to the shores of the Arctic Ocean. The 
adventures of the party are varied and thrilling. They are caught in a hurricane, are 
attacked by wolves, fall into the clutches of the Esaoule of an ostrog or Cossack mili- 
tary post, discover a whaler embedded in the ice, and suffer all sorts of privations 
during the long and bitter cold polar night. For the remaining particulars of the plot 
the reader is referred to the work itself. “The Exiles” has “Robinson Crusoe” 
features which will make it a vast favorite with the young, and, at the same time, its 
entire purity renders it a fit book to be put into the hands of any child. Older people 
will follow it with avidity from the first page to the last, so thiekiy do the exciting 
incidents crowd one upon another. In fact, “ The Exiles” is simply wonderful from 
the amount of action it contains; yet it is not in any respect sensational. The infor- 
mation it gives relative to Siberia is both valuable and copious, its authors, who are 
well-known Parisian writers, having devoted years to the study of that country, its 
people, institutions and peculiarities. This information is conveyed in the most felic- 
itous and entertaining way, and is so deftly worked into the story as not to encumber, 
it at any point. The descriptions of the aurora borealis, the mirage and the breaking* 
up of the ice are marvellously vivid, realistic and beautiful, and the characters are 
so strongly drawn that they are photographed on the memory. In a word, “The 
Exiles” is a masterpiece in every point of view, and those who fail to read it will 
miss a treat of no ordinary kind. The work of translation has been done by George 
D. Cox in his usual style of excellence, and the great romance is given to the Ameri- 
can public in all its remarkable attractiveness. 


Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 


jgg'p “The Exiles ” is for sale by all Booksellers and Nevis Agents, or copies of (t The 
Exiles ” will be sent to any one , at once , post-paid , on remitting price to the publishers , 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 



A New Novel.— An Idyl of West Point. 



OB, 

HEAETS AND BELL-BUTTONS. 

33 T2" ALICE LLI3STC3- HAMILTON". 


With an Illustrated Cover of Life at West Point. 


“Mildred’s Cadet” is just such a novel as readers, especially the ladies, have 
long been looking for. It is a light, breezy, sparkling love story, charming from 
first to last, and full of telling points. An idyl of West Point, its sub-title, “ Hearts 
and Bell-Buttons,” sounds its key-note. Mildred, the heroine, is an only daughter. 
Her father, a wealthy and ambitious Pittsburgher, and her mother, a vain, silly 
woman, desire her to wed a man many years her senior. Of course, Mildred dislikes 
and despises her venerable suitor. lier parents take her to West Point to pass a few 
summer weeks, and there she immediately falls in love with a cadet. This brief inkling 
of the plot is sufficient to show the drift of the tale, and to indicate what romantic inci- 
dents must crop out as it progresses. These incidents are related in the most delight- 
ful and absorbing fashion, and are altogether devoid of those conventional namby- 
pamby features common to most love stories. There is a vigorous and original tone 
about the book that cannot help making itself felt, as all who read it will readily 
acknowledge. The language is crisp, the descriptions picturesque, and the characters 
so naturally drawn that they seem ready to step down from the pages and take part 
in actual life. • The authoress, Alice King Hamilton, is the wife of a United States 
Army officer, and has all the details of West Point experiences at her finger ends; 
indeed, her acquaintance with the innermost details of life at the famous military 
academy is absolutely astonishing, and will prove a startling surprise to the cadets 
themselves, very many matters being touched upon in her fascinating romance which 
have never as yet become public property through the pen of any writer. The picture 
of West Point is, without doubt, exceptionally complete and graphic. Everything is 
most realistically and effectively depicted, and all the favorite resorts in the vicinity 
figure in the story. Ample attention is bestowed upon the cadets, and the reader 
becomes thoroughly acquainted with those interesting individuals. “Mildred’s 
Cadet” is just the book for summer reading, but so unusually attractive is it that 
it cannot come amiss at any time. That it will excite general curiosity and become 
vastly popular in all parts of the country does not admit of doubt. Those who once 
take it up will not put it down until they have finished it, and all will own that its 
merit is equal to its interest. The book has a beautifully illustrated cover, depicting 
“ Taps,” “ Bell- Buttons,” “ Cupids,” “ Hearts,” “ Sabres ” and other scenes character- 
istic of the cadets and West Point in thoroughly artistic and striking style. 


Illustrated Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 


“ Mildred's Cadet ” is for sale by all Booksellers and News A gents, or copies of 
it will be sent to any one , at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the publishers, 

T. B. PETEIISOX & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


“ It will save many dollars .” — Lynn Mass. Reporter < 


CHEAPEST AND BEST! 



PETERSON’S 



A Supplement will be given in every number for 1881 , containing a full-size pattern for a 
lady's or child's dress. Every subscriber will receive, during the year , twelve qf these patterns, worth, 
more, alone, than the subscription price.^M 


“Peteiu-on’s Magazine” contains, every year, 1000, pages, 14 steel plates, 12 colored Berlin 
patterns, 12 mammoth colored fashion plates, 24 pages of music, and about 900 woi d cuts. Iis princi- 
pal embellishments are 



Its immense circulation enables its proprietor to spend more on embellishments, stories, &c., 
than any other. It gives more for the monty, awl combines more merits, than any in the world. In 
1881, a New Feature will be introduced in the shape of a series of 

SPLENDIDLY ILLUSTRATED ARTICLES. 

ITS TALES AND NOVELLETS 

Are the best published anywhere. Ml the most porndar writers are employed to write originally for 
“Peterson.” In 1881 FIVE ORIGINAL COPYRIGHT NOVELETS will be given, by Ann S. Stephens, 
by Frank Lee Benedict, by Jane G. Austin, by the author of “ Josiali Allen’s Wife,” and by Sidney 
Trevor. 



Ahead of all others. These plates are engraved on steel, twice the usual size, and are unequalled 
for beauty. They will be superbly colored Also, household and other receipts; and articles on 
everything interesting to ladies. 


TERMS (Always in Advance) $2.00 A YEAR. 
^UNPARALLELED OFFERS TO CLUBS.^ 


2 

3 


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<> 



r 

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Copies for S3. 50 
« “ 4.50 

Copies for S6. 50 
“ 9.00 

A 

Copies for S8.00 
“ ** 10.50 


{ 


With a copy of the premium picture (24 x 20) a costly steel enqravtng 
“ Gran'father tells • f Yokktown ” or an illustrated Album, quarto , 
gilt, to the persou getting up the club. 

With an extra copy of the Magazine for 1881, as a premium, to the 
person getting up the club. 

With both an extra copj' of the Magazine for 1881, and the premium 
picture, or Album, to the person getting up the club. 


FOR LARGER CLUBS STILL GREATER INDUCEMENT® l 


Address, post-paid, 

CHARLES J. PETERSON, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa» 


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Over One Hundred Editions sold in Paris 


MONSIEUR, MADAME and the BABY, 

A SERIES OF CONFESSIONS. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY REAVEL SAVAGE. 

With an Illustrated Paper Cover, with Portraits of 
Monsieur, Madame and the Baby on it. 


“Monsieur, Madame and the Baby,” by Gustave Droz, is truly a phenomenal 
work, full of rare beauty, shrewd sense, genial philosophy, telling humor and touch- 
ing pathos. As a faithful picture of life it has never been equalled and probablv 
never will be. So eminently successful has it proved in Paris that it has run through 
over a hundred editions, and it is altogether safe to predict similar popularity 
for it here ; indeed, it should create as marked a sensation as “ Helen’s Babies,” a 
book to which it is in every way vastly superior. “Monsieur, Madame and the 
Baby” is in three parts, treating respectively of “The Bachelor,” “ Housekeeping,” 
and “ The Family.” It consists of a series of studies, essays or tales, all neatly 
linked together and forming the complete history of a young man, a husband, a wife 
and a baby. There is hardly a point in the careers of these interesting beings that is 
not treated of in the most exhaustive fashion ; indeed, the intense realism of the book 
is fully on a par with that of anything Zola ever wrote, while Droz’s extreme delicacy 
gives an indescribable piquancy to every incident, no matter how trifling. The book 
is thoroughly Parisian and extremely vivacious, Droz’s aim being to contrast the wild 
joys of the young bachelor with the enjoyments of married life, and to prove that 
true happiness is to be found only in the family, where husband and wife are softened, 
delighted and made better by the innocent gambols and wonderful prattle of the baby. 
The subtile influence of the charming little creature is felt in every direction and 
under all circumstances. Droz is an adept in the art of painting such a baby as is 
met with every day, and so vivid and truthful is the picture he has drawn that every 
father and mother in the land will instantly fall in love with it. The baby of the book 
is a boy, a man in miniature who builds sand mountains, plays soldier and romps in 
the garden of the Luxembourg, who trots beside his father in the autumn rain in the 
country, who wades in pools of water in his laced boots, who asks a thousand per- 
plexing questions, who is always terribly hungry, who pays New Year’s visits with 
his parents and does not like to kiss old ladies, who fights pillow battles with his 
father in bed, who gets so sick that he nearly dies, who says and does things to be like 
j>apa, and who, in tine, is such a delightfully natural little fellow that everybody will 
be sorry to leave him at the end of the bewitching volume. “Monsieur, Madame 
and the Baby” has been faithfully translated, all the elegance of Droz’s style being 
retained and all his humor effectively reproduced. No one can afford to miss reading 
it, for it is withol^ dcdab^lt^uost Interesting and fascinating book of the present day. 


Illustrated Paper. Cover, ?|6 


lents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 


“ Monsieur , Madame and the Baby ” is for sale by all Booksellers and News 
Agents, or copies will be sent to any one, post-paid, on remitting price to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 










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